


Bright Lights

by random_flores



Category: Facts of Life
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_flores/pseuds/random_flores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blair moves to New York, newlywed Jo must figure out how to cope without the thorn-in-her-side she learned to need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_She got out of town_  
 _On a railway New York bound_  


"I have an announcement to make," Blair said, one night at dinner, as Jo looked through the apartment listings, and Beverly Ann fussed over Andy. Natalie and Tootie had been in the middle of bickering over the color of Natalie's maid-of-honor dress.  


Jo, who had been sitting right next to Blair, fiddling with the new wedding ring on her finger and circling unappealing apartments that fit her and Rick's combined budget, didn't pay much attention. Blair always had an announcement of sorts. They were usually something silly and unimportant, and Jo, twenty-two, married (even if her husband had headed to Europe for two months) and an adult, had more important things to worry about.  


"What is it, Blair?" she heard from Beverly Ann, who was always polite and considerate, trying to speak up over Natalie snapping at Tootie that she was not, under any circumstances, going to wear blue taffeta.  


"I'm leaving Peekskill. I'm moving to New York."  


Jo, in the middle of circling an ad, let her pen slip, and accidentally vandalized the dinner table.  
  
\--

Somewhere, in the middle of the chaotic squabbling that followed, Blair had managed to get out an explanation. Her father had offered her a job, low-stress, a window office, as an executive in the legal department. She said he figured it was time for Blair start learning the business - so he could move her up the ladder.  


"What about school?" Jo had blurted, a little angrier than she had intended, because she had not worked her ass off studying with Blair to get her into law school just to have her quit on her.  


"I'll transfer," Blair had answered. Her father had made a generous donation to NYU, and the transfer was already in the works. "He also set me up with an apartment - modest but expensive. He said the position opened up and he wants me to start right away."  


Right away meant, literally, in a week.  


Jo's newspaper had been cleared with the dishes, and discarded. Feeling uneasy, distracted, and for some reason angry, Jo hadn't noticed.  
  
\--

Jo knew, logically, that it would have been silly to expect Blair to stay forever. She was married, and moving out too. Natalie was working and going to school; she barely had time for her writing, much less her friends. Tootie was busy auditioning and going to school and planning her marriage to Jeff.  


Hell, Jo had already tried to move out - she had left to California.  


But she had also come back.  


"What about the Center?" Jo said, as she sat on the bed, and watched Blair sort through her law books, mentally planning which she would need to take with her and which she could pack away for the movers.  


"What about it?" Blair asked, palming a particularly brutal looking leather-bound volume.  


It was just like Blair to be this self-involved. "Blair, you own it," Jo reminded her, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "You can't just abandon it. You're gonna leave Casey and me and everyone out of a job-"  


"You know as well as I do that you don't need me at the Center," Blair responded condescendingly, dropping the selected books on her desk. "What is it you told me last week? 'Get your rich blonde useless butt out of my way, no one cares what color the curtains are'."  


"They don't," she snapped, immediately defensive.  


Blair offered her a surprisingly sweet smile. "Point taken." She glanced down at the title she had picked up. "Do you think I need this book on the Brown Amendment? I haven't used it since the elective last year."  


"Blair... "  


"I don't own the Center, Jo," Blair interrupted, looking suddenly annoyed. "The Warner Foundation does. That won't change, of course I'll make sure of that. And you and Casey will manage without me."  


Jo sighed, shifting on her bed. Something just seemed wrong about this. Blair had been threatening to move back to New York for years: she complained constantly that she felt like she was living in the dullest town known to man. But despite all her whining, Blair had never left. Jo had been trying to call her bluff forever.  


"Is this because of Casey?" she asked, determined to try and get to the bottom of it. Dark eyes paused and locked intensely with hers, and Jo felt a small thrill of validation. "Is this like what happened when you and Cliff broke up, and you got all crazy and bitchy-"  


"Jo - Casey and I breaking up has nothing to do with this."  


"It doesn't."  


Blair sighed heavily, burying her fingers into her bangs, eyes closing. "Okay, maybe it does." She glanced up. "But it's not the only reason. It just... it just feels like it's time."  


Jo frowned. "What does that mean?"  


"I mean... it's just time, Jo. You're married. You're moving out soon. Tootie is engaged - Natalie's got a job and going back to school. Casey and I have broken up... there's nothing keeping me here. It's time to move on. Everyone else has." Pausing, Blair's head tilted, blonde strands swaying as she shrugged. "That's all."  


With that, Blair picked up another set of her books and moved around her, heading toward her shelf.  
  
  
\--

The day Blair left for New York; there had been no fanfare, no mushy admissions or declarations. Blair didn't want a party, and despite Tootie and Natalie's insistence that Blair was just bluffing, Jo knew her best friend well enough to know she meant it. It was just New York, after all, Blair insisted, she told them she'd visit as soon as she could, and of course they were all welcome to visit her as soon as she settled in.  


All good points, true, but Jo suspected Blair wasn't nearly that blasé. She just didn't want a repeat of her 21st birthday, in which she had insinuated she wanted to go to the Wonderland Café, and Tootie mistook it for Blair wanting an 'Alice in Wonderland' themed party. Somehow Jo been talked into dressing up in a bunny suit. She still hated Tootie a little for that, especially when Blair teasingly tugged her whiskers and called her her own little 'greasebunny'.  


To say Blair could get on her nerves would be a severe understatement. The girl drove her plain crazy.  


Jo waited all week for Blair to break down in a syrupy monologue, go on for hours about how this was an end of an era, and she and Jo would stay best friends no matter what. She cringed every time she and Blair were in a room alone, body tense, anticipating Blair's typical arm slung around her neck and sniffles of affection.  


But Blair had been so involved with packing and arranging her move and talking on the phone with her new secretary, she only came in the room to sleep or pack. The day she left, she simply curled her arms around Jo like she did with the others, and held her for one long moment.  


"I love you, Jo," she heard warmly, before she was released and Blair was gone, heading for the train, on her way to New York.  
  
\--

An envelope was thrown across her desk.  


"Paycheck," Casey said, in his typically brusque way.  


More annoyed with her curly haired boss than she remembered being, Jo shot him a polite smile. "Thanks." She opened the envelope, and pulled out the standardized check the Center was now being issued directly from the Warner Foundation.  


Unfolding it, Jo caught sight of a familiar scrawl, printed the bottom of the check. Exhaling, she found herself tracing the signature with her fingertip, shaking her head in admired bemusement.  


She couldn't believe Blair was still signing these herself. It was just like Blair to remind her even after she was gone that she was still in control of her life, and her money.  


"Have you heard from Blair, Jo?"  


The realization that Casey was still there, staring down at her, caused a hot flush that coursed down her body, and awkwardly, she folded the check, shoving it into her back pocket.  


"What are you talkin' about?" she grumbled, pushing away roughly from her second hand desk and reaching for her jean jacket. "I'm her best friend. Of course I've heard from her. I talk to her all the time."  


That was a lie, but Casey didn't need to know that. He also didn't need to know that Jo had waited in the house like an idiot the week after Blair left, thinking Blair would call her as soon as she had gotten settled, to talk Jo's ear off about her New York adventures, and what all the other girls in the office were wearing. Casey didn't need to know that without a best friend and without a husband, Jo's evenings were now filled with playing Nintendo with Andy and listening to Beverly Ann ramble on about some memory or another.  


All Casey really needed to know was that he could have married Blair and he didn't and now she was in fucking New York instead of Peekskill.  


She suddenly really didn't want to be around Casey right now.  


Looking away, Jo shrugged on her jacket and turned around her desk, determined to get to work. A large hand grabbed her elbow, keeping her from moving. "Listen... when you talk to her... let her know I miss her, okay?"  


Jo stared at him, looked into his handsome face, and saw regret.  


Yeah, Jo decided, she really couldn't stand him.  


Shaking him off, she offered her husband's best man a glare. "Tell her yourself."  
  
  
\--

When Tootie and Natalie moved into their own room, Blair had declared that it was only fitting she decorate the room the way she wanted it, because she claimed she was the only one who had any sort of taste.  


"If I leave it up to you, you'll ply the walls with motorcycle posters and put a stack of engines in the corner," Blair sniffled haughtily, and Jo remembered rolling her eyes and telling Blair that if she saw one pink ruffle she was going to use it to choke her.  


Blair had not heeded her warning, and so of course there were pink ruffles, and frilly pieces of lace and so many candles and little cups of potpourri that Jo's nose clogged on her each and every time she entered the room.  


Her complaints to Blair about the stench came dangerously close to whining, and even then Blair wouldn't give in. All Jo got after three months of yelling and whining and driving Natalie and Tootie crazy with her rants about the stupid smelly wood chips and foofy fire hazards was Blair not talking to her for a week.  


Coming into the room now, Jo fingered her paycheck and eyed the barren room.  


A disassembled motor engine lay on an open piece of newspaper where Blair's bed used to be.  


There wasn't a pink frill in the place.  


Jo hated to admit it, but she had kinda gotten used to that stupid potpourri.  
  
  
\--

"JO!" Tootie's voice was loud, too loud, thanks to years of theater training that had taught the girl to project using her diaphragm.  


Wincing dramatically, Jo narrowed her eyes angrily, glancing up from her stack of papers she was currently working through. "What, Tootie?"  


Ducking into the kitchen, Tootie wore an almost idiotically cheery smile. "Telephone!" she teased in a sing-song girly voice, bobbing her head excitedly.  


"Who is it?"  


"Who do you think?" With a wink, Tootie motioned toward the living room.  


Jo blinked, feeling a sudden knot form in the pit of her stomach that was instantly relieved when she had focused enough to get good and annoyed, for no other reason than it was Blair and getting annoyed was an instinctive reaction.  


Shoulders straightening, she headed for the living room, ignoring Tootie's exaggerated grin, managing to keep her voice nice and neutral as she grabbed the receiver.  


"Took you long enough! What the hell have you been doing?"  


A masculine laugh filled her senses. "Well, I'm sorry honey! I've been working on the other side of the world!"  


Rick.  


Blinking, Jo was stunned, so taken by surprise she was actually rendered speechless.  


"Jo? Honey?"  


"Rick!" she finally stuttered, flushing intensely. "Hi!"  


Her long distance husband was cheery and funny and flirty, and made a dirty but charming reference to their wedding night.  


Jo listened, and smiled and laughed, and hung up as quickly as she could.  
  
\--

"I talked to Blair today," Natalie said, three weeks after Blair had left. "Got a phone call from her at the office."  


Buried in the midst of a budget from hell, Jo glanced up, eyes narrowing suddenly. "Oh yeah?"  


"Yeah," Natalie said, flopping down beside her on the couch. "She says she has a corner office and a hot male secretary named Felipe. I asked her if he was any good and she said and I quote 'Who cares? He has a body like Mel Gibson!'"  


"That Blair," Tootie giggled, crossing her legs and contemplating the thought. "Who knew she'd turn into such a feminist?"  


"Blair called you?" Jo had blurted that out before she could stop it. Both friends glanced at her oddly, and Jo blinked, suddenly aware of what she had said.  


"Well, sure," Natalie answered, brow arching into her forehead. "You know she can't call here because Tootie will complain that Jeff is trying to call in. Besides, I called her earlier this week because I heard something about a merger with Warner Textiles. I thought I could get a scoop."  


"You know, I should call her!" Tootie said brightly. "I got that audition in New York in a couple weeks. I could use her help to get a good deal on a wedding dress. It's about time I start looking."  


"What makes you think her highness will have time for you?" Jo growled, pencil scribbling violently against her page.  


"Oh, Blair will make time for me," Tootie said confidently, and then frowned. "Well, at any rate, she'll make time for shopping!"  


"Ooh, if you go, I'll go with you!" Natalie squealed. "It'd be nice to look around again when I make the move to SoHo. The Warner Textiles Corporation has some sort of leasing program, Blair told me about. If I get a job there, maybe I can get in on that."  


Lifting her head up, Jo's eyes narrowed at her friends. "So, you're saying you don't want to see Blair as much as you want to see her connections."  


"You know, I never thought I'd say this?" Natalie continued, ignoring her, head leaning back against the couch. "But I miss her. It's not the same around here with Blair."  


"I know," Tootie sniffled. "She was so great about lending me her stuff whenever I had an audition or something."  


The mood had gotten absurdly nostalgic, and for some reason, it annoyed the crap out of Jo. "Geez, listen to you two! She's been gone for three weeks! She's not dead! Good riddance!"  


"Oh, come on, Jo. You must miss her a little bit," Natalie said, reaching over the couch to chuck a first gently against Jo's shoulder.  


The little patronizing action was just enough to send Jo flying off the handle.  


"Of course I do," she blurted, pushing up off the couch. "Because now, there's no one here to drown the two of you out! Seriously, do the two of you ever stop talkin'? Some of us are working here!"  


It was unnecessarily harsh, but Jo wasn't in the mood for kindness. Something about the entire conversation just ticked her off.  


"You know why else I miss Blair?" Tootie responded, eyes narrowed in her direction, louder now. "Because when she's not here, Jo gets so stir crazy she takes to torturing the rest of us as a replacement."  


"What?" Eyes rolling heavenwards, Jo began to gather up her papers. "Shut up. I do not."  


"Jo, Freddy Krueger would be nicer company than you," Natalie snapped, rising off the couch. "Listen - you gotta ease up. We don't have Blair's tolerance. She's built up immunity to your insults. She's had ten years of practice!"  


"Oh, come on. I'm not being mean to you!" Jo insisted. "You guys just gotta…" she sighed, suddenly agitated. "Okay, look – you build into a rhythm, you know? I've insulted her for ten years. I'm in detox. If it helps…" Rubbing at her head, Jo tried to think of a good compromise, "I'll try to tone it down to two good insults a day."  


"Or maybe we could get a poster of Blair," Natalie drawled. "And you can just yell at that."  


Crumbling her papers together, Jo offered Natalie a good glare.  


"Jo," Uncurling her legs, Tootie came around the couch, one palm on her shoulder. "If you miss her so much, why don't you just call her!"  


"I do not miss Blair!" she answered hotly. "Allright? I've never been happier! Now that she's gotten rid of her aerosol cans I actually have room for something in the bathroom other than toothpaste!"  


Natalie and Tootie exchanged a glance, and for some reason that just infuriated her more.  


"What?!" she growled, palm now erratically rubbing along her neck. "Okay, look – maybe I do miss her. Deep… DEEP down. Like a dog misses its fleas," she added, unable to help herself. "I miss Rick!" she finally sputtered. "You remember Rick, right? My husband? Who's away for two months?"  


Clapping her hand on Jo's shoulder, Natalie offered, "Too bad. She misses you. Good night, Grump."  
  
\--

Four days later, after Jo had accidentally made the mail man cry when she sniped at him about forgetting Blair's forwarding address, she called Blair.  


It hadn't been her decision. Natalie just hadn't stopped nagging, and after spending an hour handing the postal worker tissues and listening to his blubbering, she felt she was due a penance.  


She stared hard at the phone, eyes narrowing in an angry glare, as if by extension, she could glare at Blair, but of course, it didn't seem to have the same effect.  


Sighing, she finally began to press the numbers into the dialpad, waiting for the click and the ring, before she heard, "Blair Warner's office."  


"Hi," she began, suddenly awkward. "Is Blair there?"  


"May I ask who's calling?" The male voice was politely distant.  


She blinked. "It's Jo."  


"Jo who?"  


Jo who? Seriously?  


"Jo Polniaczek," she managed through gritted teeth.  


"And your reason for calling?"  


Really?  


"Look, just tell her it's Jo from Peekskill and if she doesn't pick up I'm going to come down there and throw her obnoxious assistant out the window."  


There was a moment of silence, before she heard a startled, "One moment please."  


And then there was aggravating hold music over which some pompous-y baritone guy said stuff like, "Quality. And that's why Warner Textiles is the number one brand for your textile needs-"  


The sappy music cut-off and with a sharp inhalation, she heard a distinctly familiar voice begin, "Honestly, Jo – you couldn't have a five minute conversation without digressing into a barbarian and threatening my assistant?"  


She smiled in spite of herself. "He was being rude."  


"He was being thorough," Blair insisted. "I hardly expect you to understand, but in corporate America, there is this thing called 'protocol'."  


"And there's also a thing called 'being a pompous ass'," she complained, getting into the spirit of things. "But what am I saying? He learned from the best."  


"Bluster all you want Jo," Blair shot back, "But at the moment, I'm seated in my corner office in my plush leather custom-designed cushy chair and you're seated in one that snaps in two when you lean back too hard."  


She should have never told Blair about the thing breaking on her and her nearly cracking her head open as a result.  


"Yeah, well, that's your fault, boss. When are you going to get some decent office furniture in here? I swear, you're keepin' us one trashbag away from a slum."  


"Well, you would know. Besides, I've been insanely busy," Blair exhaled sadly. "Can you believe that I haven't even had a moment to breathe, let alone shop?"  


"Oh, how do you live?" Jo asked, mock horror tainting her voice.  


"I know you're being sarcastic, but I'll take any sympathy I can get," Blair sighed. "I've missed you, Jo."  


There it was. Blair's characteristic mushiness that usually aggravated the hell out of her.  


Strangely, she wasn't annoyed.  


"You have, huh?"  


"Oh, don't sound so skeptical. I know you miss me too."  


This was Blair getting mushy. In her right mind, Jo would have squashed that mood rather quickly.  


"Oh, I do."  


"You called me, remember?" Dammit. Jo had hoped Blair would have gone against convention and not mentioned that part. "I hear you've been tormenting Natalie and Tootie," Blair continued a beat later, letting her off the hook.  


"They've been annoying me."  


"Everyone annoys you."  


"Well, that's because they're annoying."  


"Oh, Jo. I worry for Rick sometimes. I don't know how he's going to make it through even a week living with you. He's surprisingly thin-skinned. Are you coming down to visit with Natalie and Tootie?" Before she could respond, Blair said quickly, "Oh wait – that's one of the VP's coming in on the other line. I need to take that. Jo, it was lovely talking with you. You are coming with Natalie and Tootie, right? I'll see you then?"  


"Blair-"  


Before Jo could get in another word in, the line had clicked in her ear and she heard a dial tone.  
  
\--

Jo had spent countless hours in the past ten years praying for the moment when Blair Warner would pack up her mountain of clothes and head back to New York.  


She infuriated her. She drove her crazy. When Blair was around, Jo's face was set in a permanent exasperated frown. Naturally, Blair would take every opportunity to remind Jo that such an expression caused wrinkles, and Goodness knew, Jo would look enough like a hag as it was.  


Blair did stupid things like sue her for a plastic watch that played disco or print pizza boxes with her mother's picture on it. She would buy her obscenely expensive gifts for Christmas and for weeks before gloat about it; dropping hints to Jo about what it could be and squeal when Jo finally opened them.  


She would circle outfits in big black felt pen from her Bloomingdales catalogues and then leave them on Jo's bed for Jo to find.  


Jo couldn't take her anywhere. Everywhere they went Blair's blue-blood ignorance got them into trouble. They nearly got jumped at the wrestling match when the burly guy in the ring accidentally spit in Blair's direction and Blair called him a cretin. At the drive-in Blair had managed to start a near riot in the bathroom and then spent the entire evening hanging on Jo, afraid of the little thug who had threatened Blair's life. They nearly got kicked out of the grocery store everytime they went because Blair would spent hours digging through the produce, disrupting the entire pile to find the only potato or tomato or apple that was without blemish.  


Hell, even in California, Blair's coming to town had triggered a series of events that left her flooding an actor's house with water and putting the rest of their friends in jail.  


Blair was vacuous and ditzy and insensitive and greedy and all the bleach she put in her hair had clearly seeped in and damaged her brain.  


Jo was annoyed enough at herself when she realized that she really missed her.  
  
  
\--

"Oh, Beverly Ann, you should see it! The office is so glamorous!"  


Lingering as she stepped into the doorway, Jo held a stack of bills and a bag of groceries as she laid eyes on Tootie and Natalie, apparently in the middle of regaling Beverly Ann with details of their trip.  


"Is it!" Natalie agreed with Tootie. "And her assistant, Felipe? Delicious! And he's looking for a roommate!"  


"Oh…" Beverly Ann looked nervous at that suggestion. "Well… Natalie…"  


"Can you believe that Blair actually convinced the designer to only charge me the cost of materials for my wedding dress? It's part of a deal for Warner Textiles! The dress will be a featured couture gown for their new bridal line. I'll get to model it!" Tootie squealed in excitement.  


Jo let the letters fall to the table behind the couch. The movement caused her friends to glance up.  


"Oh, hey Jo!"  


"Hey yourself," she mumbled, shrugging out of her jacket. "How was your trip?"  


"Oh, it was amazing! Blair took us to 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Coat'. Blasphemy was never so rocking!"  


"She asked where you were." Tootie's voice was almost judgmental.  


"She should know I have to work, with what she pays me," she managed to grumble, keeping her eyes on the bills she was now sorting. "What'd she say?"  


"She said, 'Where's Jo?'" Natalie responded, deadpan. When Jo glanced up at her, she shrugged. "What did you want, a sonnet?"  
  
\--  


Her phone rang, cutting through the loud clutter of the children rushing through the room.  


"HEY!" she barked, eyes narrowing at the scene. "Take the basketball outside, Travis!"  


Reaching for the phone with a tired sigh, she kept her watch on the troublesome boys. "Community Center, this is Jo."  


"Miss Polniaczek, I've got Blair Warner for you."  


"What?"  


"I have Blair Warner for you."  


She blinked, confused. "So where the hell is she?"  


There was another pregnant pause. "Just one moment…"  


"Hello?" she asked, when the line seemed to sink into nothingness.  


"Jo?" she heard suddenly. "You PROMISED you'd come to New York with Natalie and Tootie."  


Blair. "I did not," she said immediately, defensives rising on pure instinct. "What's wrong with you? You can't even dial a phone on your own now?"  


"I've been in meetings."  


"And forgot how to use your fingers?"  


"I asked you a question, Jo."  


"No you didn't."  


"You made a promise. You can't renege on a promise. It's unethical."  


"I didn't promise anything!" Jo narrowed her eyes. "You're going senile, aren't you?"  


"I had plans, Jo!'  


"Blair, you dragged them to a musical about a guy from the Bible and went shopping for wedding dresses. What part of that would be fun for me?"  


"Oh, I've dragged you to worse."  


That at least, as true. Fingers on her desk, Jo found herself smiling in spite of herself. "Well, at least you admit it."  


\--  


She received a postcard from Italy, with Rick's familiar scrawl. It was of an overweight woman tanning on the beach and it said 'Greetings from Italy' with some Italian punchline scribbled on it.  


Sometimes Jo really did not understand Rick's humor. 


	2. Chapter 2

"No, see... there's a nudist beach... and the saying, in Italian... if you understand Italian..."

Jo closed her eyes. "Rick," she interrupted, knowing full well her husband would go on forever. On days when she wasn't already grumpy, she usually found it endearing. "It's okay. I get it. It was hilarious."

"Well, now you're just being patronizing."

"Well, if it takes you ten minutes to explain the joke, maybe it's not worth telling," she sighed, leaning against the desk as she folded her arm, shaking her head in bemusement. "Next time, just send me a picture of a vineyard or something."

"But that's boring."

"Yeah, but thanks to Blair I've got about a hundred of those stupid postcards. I might as well give up and start calling it a collection."

Not that she would ever admit that to anyone else but Rick. Blair had been sending those things for years, postcards upon postcards of wherever she landed, filled with scribbles and little dotted x's and o's. Jo had learned to keep them, after throwing away the first batch and then having to face Blair's wrath when the princess returned and demanded to see them.

She now kept them in a shoebox underneath her bed, within easy reach. Just to shut Blair up.

"Ahh, Blair," Rick sighed, feigning affection. Jo found herself rolling her eyes as a result. "How is the Beauty Queen?"

Mouth pressing together, Jo sensed her opportunity. "Good," she began, casual and distant. "I'm actually going to visit her this weekend."

"Oh really? That's nice."

"So you're okay with it," she confirmed, and then clamped her mouth shut, flushing.

"You're asking my permission?" Rick sounded as amused as she was horrified. "Is that how we're doing things now?"

"No," she snarled, a little angrier than she intended, but mostly at herself for her idiotic descent into traditional patriarchy. "I don't know why that came out… like that. Don't think that's the norm," she warned.

"… okay then. So if I wasn't okay with it you wouldn't go?"

"Rick." Her tone was a near growl, warning him not to push it.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding! I think it's good that you're getting out! I feel guilty, traveling around Europe and you there, missing your hubby…"

She sighed raggedly. "I've been allright."

"Well, have fun with Blair. And try not to miss me too much. And try not to think about what happens when I come back, and we finish what we started."

Was this him trying to talk dirty? Who knew he'd be so bad at it?

"Good-BYE, Rick," she finally said, shaking her head for what seemed like the fifteenth time since she had picked up the phone.  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blair Warner's office was located on the 57th floor in the legal department, the security guard told her, as he peeled the 'visitors' badge from the sticky sheet and gave it to her to press against her shirt. She would have to take the elevator that was reserved for floors 50-65 and check in with reception.

The whole thing smacked of pretension.

Around her, men and woman in suits swirled around her. High heels clicked on linoleum, and when she stepped into the crowded elevator, she sneezed from the overpowering stench of mingled cologne and perfume. Jo received a barrage of dirty looks instead of 'bless you's and as she sniffled, she stiffened and glared right back.

She stepped out onto the 57th floor, shouldering her overnight bag, boots sinking into the overly plush carpet as she stepped toward an older looking lady standing behind a monstrous black desk.

"May I help you?"

The receptionist, at least, was polite enough.

"Uh… yeah. I'm here to see Blair Warner."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Taken aback at the blunt request, Jo shifted the back, feeling oddly out of place in her jean skirt and long black coat. "Uh… no. But she's expecting me."

The receptionist looked suspicious. "And your name?"

"Jo Polniaczek."

Mouth turning into a frown, the reception pointed a long fingernail to the clipboard on the counter as she picked up the phone. "Sign in please and take a seat. I'll let Miss Warner's assistant know you are here."

Irately, Jo wondered if it would be too much to curtsy as she headed for the fluffy pile of chairs in a corner.  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jo had been to the New York headquarters of Warner Textile Industries exactly once. On a weekend trip to New York, she had been dragged there by Blair, her friend's fingers digging into her elbow as she led her through the cold lobby and up the elevator directly to her father's office. She remembered feeling small, huddling into her trenchcoat, standing absurdly still in Mr. Warner's immense office, while Blair sat on her father's shiny wood desktop, chattering away to her father, trying to make him see the immense need for the thousand dollar extension on her allowance because sales like the ones she had passed only happened once a year.

It was then that Jo realized Blair received an allowance of ten thousand dollars a month.

"Ten thousand dollars?!" she had burst, eyes going bug-eyed at the ridiculous sum. "Blair, that's enough to feed a family in Hell's Kitchen for a year! And you blew through that?! What's the matter with you!?"

Seconds later, upon remembering that Blair's father was actually IN the room, Jo had been mortified, but Blair later told her that after that incident, Jo had been his favorite of Blair's friends.

"He thinks you're a good influence on me," she grumbled in her own frivolous Blair way. "And gives me absolutely no credit for my ongoing efforts to make you less of a barbarian."

Jo remembered thinking Blair's father had some sense after all.

"Miss Polniaczek?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Jo looked up from the finance magazine she wasn't reading to gave upon a tall, dark-haired handsome man in a tie, looking down at her nervously.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Felipe, Miss Warner's assistant." He seemed to hesitate to stick out his hand to be shaken, almost as if he was afraid she would break it off instead. Sticking his palms in his pockets, he opted for a kind smile. "I'm sorry for the wait. Miss Warner's 3PM ran late, and you were early-"

"Is Blair here?" she asked, rising from her chair.

Stepping back, Felipe shot her another nervous smile. "Right this way."

Looking back every once in a while, to make sure she was still following, he lead her from the receptionist area into a place infested with cubicles and bordered with offices.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Felipe finally burst, and Jo blinked, steps faltering when she realized Felipe was talking to her, jerking his head back. "Miss Warner talks so much about you…"

"She does?" Brow's furrowing in concern, she finally managed a smile. "Well, then, take that, and take 98% of it away. The other 2% is the part that's actually true."

"Oh…" Felipe waited for her to catch up. "Actually, she's said nothing but nice things. One of the reasons she hired me was because she said I reminded her of you."

"That's weird."

"I hear you like motorcycles."

She blinked, surprised. "You like motorcycles?" He seemed a little too pretty to get involved in anything that dirty.

He smiled brightly. "It's my hobby. I race. Miss Warner even convinced one of our subsidiaries to sponsor me, providing I could improve my record on the speedway."

That seemed tremendously generous. "How the hell did you swing that?"

Once again, she was treated to perfectly polished teeth. "Miss Warner has been very good to me."

Of course she has, Jo thought, rolling her eyes, as Blair's Man-Candy led her past another office, and then turned toward a closed door, knocking slightly before turning the knob and peeking inside.

"Miss Warner? Miss Polniaczek is here for you."

He held the door open for her, and Jo could only nod at him, before she sucked in her breath and encountered a gorgeous blonde with a beautiful smile.

Blair held up her hand, obviously on the phone, and when Jo faltered, she simply waved her in, motioning to an empty seat on the other side of the desk.

Felipe gave her an encouraging smile, and then closed the door behind him, as Jo settled into her chair, and watched Blair as her friend continued her conversation.

Blair was talking about legal circumstances and some sort of clearance issues, and none of it really made any sense, but Jo had to admit, the view was impressive. Her best friend, dressed simply in a dark blue power suit, hair swept up elegantly, with bangs whisping along her forehead, looked… grown up.

Jo found herself fighting back a smile.

It was good to see her.

Brown eyes locked with hers, and her friend bit back a smirk, glancing away, as she finally interrupted whoever was on the other line, "John, my 5PM is in my office. Do you mind if we continue this later?" she waited, eyes rolling back expressively. "Yes, John, I realize that, but considering our deadline is three weeks away, you can give me 24 hours to come up with a solution. Fine, schedule that time with my assistant. Thank you."

"Look at you," Jo said, voice raspy with her unexpected joy. "I'm almost impressed."

"Jo," Blair grinned, looking absolutely thrilled, and the freedom of her expression touched Jo. Blair had never been shy with public affection, and Jo found herself welcoming the hug that her friend gave her, as Blair threw her arms around her shoulders, and pressed her lips against Jo's jaw, giving Jo a whiff of her designer perfume.

The snuggle left Blair almost sitting in her lap, and when Blair squeezed harder, it put her off balance, and suddenly she WAS in Jo's lap, which was admittedly closer than she had been in a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jo grumbled, suddenly choking, as Blair paid no attention to her, fingers threading lovingly through her hair.

"Look at you!" Blair squealed, eyes misty with emotion. "You cut your hair?!"

"Oh…" Suddenly self-conscious at the feel of fingernails scratching lightly through her scalp, and the not altogether unpleasant shiver it caused, she batted at Blair's hands. "Would you stop?! I'm not a carnival ride."

Still settled firmly (and warmly) in Jo's lap, her friend seemed too giddy to care. "Jo, I've missed you."

Okay, Blair was always a mush ball, but this was ridiculous.

Unsure what else to do with her hands, Jo finally settled for Blair's waist, fully intending to push her friend off before she got any warmer.

The door opened suddenly. "Sweetheart, I'm leaving for the day-"

The words died in Mr. Warner's mouth, and Jo immediately understood why, as she blinked and discovered that instead of actually pushing Blair off her lap, her hands had betrayed her and curled around her friend's waist.

"Mr. Warner!"

"Daddy!" Blair said happily, taking her time to rise from her happy perch, to reach for his arms and kiss him lightly on both cheeks. "Jo's here."

"I can see that," he stuttered, looking a really odd shade of red as he stared in her direction. "Jo."

Rising immediately, Jo smoothed out her rumbled jean jacket and smiled as politely as she could. "Good afternoon, Mr. Warner. It's always a pleasure to see you."

The look he gave her was calculating. "Congratulations on your wedding."

She hesitated, the large fingers wrapping around her palm tighter and stronger than she remembered. "Thanks. We're very happy."

"Sorry I couldn't be there for the happy day. Blair tells me this Rick fellow is quite a character."

"Well…" Jo sucked in an uneasy breath when Mr. Warner finally let go of her hand. "That's one way to put him."

Daring to send a glance in Blair's direction, Jo felt unexpectedly light-headed when her friend offered an oblivious grin.

Suddenly Jo remembered why she had stayed away from Blair.

The girl made her friggin' crazy.  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's not much," Blair warned her, as she fumbled with the lock as they both stood in the hallway of her expensive apartment in Manhattan. "Daddy says that part of this learning experience is to 'rough it' a bit. As if living with you wasn't rough enough!"

Thinking back to the suited doorman who greeted them in the lobby and taking in the pristine, modern hallway she was now standing in, Jo realized that her and Mr. Warner had very different ideas about 'roughing it'.

"Yeah," she drawled, as Blair turned the knob and pushed the door open. "You really are living in squalor here."

Casting a good-natured glare behind her, Blair held the door open and flicked on the light. "It's not our house in Peekskill, but I think I've made it home."

Shifting the weight of her overnight bag, Jo followed her friend in and inspected the small, but expensive, apartment. Despite her friend's exclamations that the place was 'tiny', it was bigger than the apartment Jo had shared with her mom growing up. It was loft style, with shiny hard wood floors covered in stylish shrug rugs and a pristine kitchen that had quite obviously never been used. The couch looked surprisingly comfy, despite it being an 'asking to be soiled' white.

All in all, it was a nice, modern apartment, but Jo wasn't sure it said 'Blair'.

A hand placed itself warmly on her shoulder. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think I'm afraid to move in case I break something."

"Oh, please." Blair walked around her, shedding her dark black trenchcoat as she headed toward the kitchen. "I had this place child-proofed when I thought you were coming with Tootie and Natalie. Wine?"

Standing still, Jo watched her curiously. Her old friend was now inspecting a bottle from the small collection in a wine rack on the counter. Brown eyes glanced up, met hers, and then darted away, as firm lips pulled into a secret smile.

Sighing raggedly, Jo shrugged off her jacket, and placed it on the polished cherry wood coat rack that now held Blair's obscenely expensive coat.

"Jo, can you do me a favor and get a couple of wine glasses? They're in the cabinet right over there."

Turning, Jo took a moment to absorb her friend, expertly uncorking her bottle of wine. "Sure." She moved, feeling oddly warm, and found the cabinet with glass windows, holding wine glasses by their stems and a few frames in the shelf beneath.

It was the pictures that caught her attention, as she opened the doors with a dignified squeak, and found two pictures side by side. Jo herself smiled back at her from the pictures, an arm slung tightly around Blair in each, each girls wearing matching graduation gowns: maroon in one, blue in the other.

With her back to her former nemesis, she allowed one smile, embarrassed by the small thrill inside of her when she saw the frames.

"How's Rick? Have you heard from him?"

Feeling self conscious, Jo put the pictures back, and fumbled with the glasses, producing a clang that made her wince.

"He's fine," she called out, heading back with the glasses. "Having a blast in Europe."

"Poor musicians usually do," Blair mused, and then grinned, taking the glasses from Jo.

Leaning her hands against the counter, Jo eyed her suspiciously. "So what's the deal with you and your assistant?"

Pausing as she tilted the wine bottle into her glasses, Blair looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Since when have you been interested in motorcycle racing?"

Blair smiled, a secret sort of smile that looked a lot like guilt. "I don't know what you're insinuating."

"Yes you do, Blair."

"Felipe and I have a strictly professional relationship," Blair retorting, handing her a glass of red wine. "He was looking for a strong mentor and I was more than happy to fill that role."

"Oh, I bet you were."

At this, Blair actually looked bothered. "Jo, really. Do you really think I would be idiotic enough to date my assistant in my own father's company?"

Well… when she put it that way.

Wine glass rising to her lips, Blair thought better of it, and brought it down. "Jo, I have enough to prove what with all the other executives and assistants calling me 'Daddy's Girl' behind my back. I wouldn't do anything to shame my father. Not when the stakes are this high."

Jo sighed, ashamed at her own conclusions. "I'm sorry."

Blair shook her head, staring at her with clear brown eyes. "You really don't think I've changed, do you?"

And that's how she knew Blair was really upset. "Blair, I'm sorry!" she said again, setting the glass of wine against the counter. "I wasn't trying to imply anything, I'm just… you know… he's gorgeous and … you're… Blair."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Thanks," she said dryly.

"I wasn't trying to insult you."

Blonde hair fell forward as Blair stared into her wine glass, swishing the liquid around delicately. "Well… that's new," she muttered, and Jo was suddenly relieved when she saw the hint of a smile light up the delicate features. "I'm not his type, anyway," she answered, somewhat dismissively, an odd acceptance of her apology, as she turned away and headed to her couch.

Grabbing hold of her own glass, Jo followed, watching as her friend kicked off her heels, fingers finding the color of her shirt, nimbly pulling buttons out of holes.

"I thought you said you were everyone's type."

Blair's smile again was muted, as if Blair was holding something back from her. It was an odd expression to see, from the girl who was always so unusually transparent.

"Well, I am," she conceded, "But there are variables."

"Such as?" Jo asked, sinking down on the couch beside her.

Fingers threaded at the nape of her neck, in that typical Blair way, unconsciously flirtatious, her friend considered the idea. "Such as… having the right equipment."

Jo's eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Equipment? What, you mean like a bike? Cause you can afford like… thirty of those."

"Jo, I'm not talking about auto equipment," Blair said, tone subdued, bringing the glass of wine to her lips. She was clearly enjoying Jo's ignorance, and for once, Jo didn't mind the amusement at her expense.

"So? You gonna tell me or what?"

Stretching comfortably on her couch, Blair looked older than Jo had ever seen her. No, that was the wrong word for it. Her friend seemed… matured.

It was an odd reflection to make. Blair had only been gone for a little over a month.

Sighing, Blair's eyes flickered up to meet her own. "Felipe has a significant other, Jo."

"Ah."

"A lovely and quite handsome waiter by the name of John."

Mid-sip, Jo suddenly slurped, and felt the wine slip down the wrong passage way as a result. She snorted, then choked, and had the glass of wine immediately taken away from her.

"Jo!"

Her eyes stinging from the alcohol burning down her throat, she shook her head, warding off Blair's concerned hands.

"I'm fine," she croaked. "I just… I wasn't…"

"Take your time," she heard Blair mutter dryly.

"Oh, come on," she wheezed, and pounded a fist into her chest, managing to finally clear her throat. "You just sprung that on me."

"With wonderful results," Blair twittered.

Her eyes narrowed, weakly spent from her brief moment of embarrassment. "So you're saying he's gay."

"I'm saying he's gay," Blair repeated solemnly. "Wonderfully, handsomely gay. And his boyfriend is prettier than he is, if you can believe it. The office doesn't know, of course. He told me in confidence, but I support him. I think he's going to go on and do amazing things. Provided you don't keep scaring him, that is."

"Excuse me?"

"After you yelled at him the last time, he turns pale every time I ask him to put me through to you."

"Well, you know…" Jo reached forward, and gently took hold of Blair's hand, inspecting the slender digits. "Nothing's wrong with those fingers, Blair."

"Jo, between my job and law school, I need every second I can get."

There was a moment of silence, as dark eyes met her own, and after an oddly charged moment, Jo released her hand.

"So, no Felipe," Jo managed, suddenly needing her glass of wine. "Are you saying you're alone, Blair?"

"Am I ever?" Blair sighed, fingers once again digging into the nape of her hair, exposing her collarbone within the delicate v-neck of her shirt as she stretched out her neck in the process. "No, of course there are a few, but like I said, between law school and work – there's not much time for my social agenda."

"Sounds lonely."

Blair stilled, and suddenly offered a gentle smile. "Actually, it's kind of nice. For the first time ever, I feel… focused. There's no distraction. There's simply me, and my goals."

It was a surprisingly complex comment, coming from Blair.

"You mean, without Casey around."

Her friend frowned at the mention. "I guess," she hedged, "But also… Natalie and her stories and Tootie and her dramatics and Andy and his constantly trying to steal my romance novels. I thought I would be lonely out here, and to a point, I am, but… I guess I'm too busy to get that lonely. And when I'm not…"

"There's always someone there to fil the void," Jo said, oddly concerned at the thought.

Bright orbs shifted to meet her own. "Well, we can't all find the love of our lives at twenty-two."  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was talk of going out on the town and painting it red, or pink, or whatever color Blair would paint a town if they were into vandalism.

Jo wasn't in the mood to get dragged to a stuffy five star restaurant, or fight the crowds on Broadway.

Blair was never in the mood to get dragged to a seedy Bronx bar, or to brave a subway.

As usual, there was a compromise.

It involved wine and delivered pizza, and settling on the large shag rug in the middle of Blair's living room, the television blaring and subsequently ignored.

They drank more than they should have, because unlike Peekskill, there was no impressionable Andy or worried Beverly Ann lurking about. There was no nosy Natalie or judgmental Tootie, repeated over and over how they needed to limit themselves because of said Andy.

There was no one but Jo and Blair, and Jo was always eternally surprised when she realized, she liked it this way.

Stretched out beside her friend, feeling lazy and dizzy and with a warm, full feeling settled in her stomach, she watched her former roommate, clad in her silky night slip that only reached to her thighs (because it was Jo and according to Blair, didn't count), happily tilt the last drops of her wine from her glass into her mouth.

"Do you have any idea how hung over we're gonna be tomorrow?" she breathed, eyeing Johnny Carson idly on the television.

"Mmm… it's a Saturday. No class and no work. I'm not caring." Lips pressed together in a happy smack, Blair flopped onto her back, blonde strands smacking Jo in the face in the process.

"Hey!" she groused, flinging the hair back.

Blair giggled, and shimmied closer to her, until their shoulders were brushing. "So… we never talked about this. And I feel entitled to know."

Arching a brow, Jo waited.

"What was your wedding night like?"

The unexpected question caused a moment of suddenly sobriety, and her eyes rose up into the back of her head. "Oh, come on, Blair."

"Oh, Jo, please! I'm the best friend!" Drunk and affectionate, her friend slung an arm around Jo's shoulder, turning over until she was snuggled into Jo's side. The intimate position didn't help her case, but Jo found herself too embarrassed to fight it. "You have to tell me," Blair mumbled, digits smoothing up and down her forearm, as if in afterthought. The light touch caused a tingle, that made Jo want to scratch at the area. "We never got to bond about that."

Jo found herself smiling morosely. "That's because there was nothing to bond about."

The feel of fingernails dragging lightly against her sensitive forearm paused, and the warmness underneath her chin lifted when Blair shifted, half splayed on top of her as she eyed her curiously.

"What do you mean?"

Jo sighed, the warmth that came from the alcohol and the softness of her affectionate friend making it easier, somehow, to slip an arm around Blair's waist, and rub at the base of her spine idly.

"I mean I wasn't ready," Jo finally managed. "He wanted it, and… I knew he did, but… I wasn't there yet, you know? And I didn't want it to be something I had to do just because that's what you do on a wedding night. Not when he was leaving the next day." She couldn't look at Blair, at the moment, oddly ashamed at the ugly reality of what was supposed to be night of her dreams.

Not that Jo had been looking forward to that particular moment. She had never shaken her anxiety, and felt inadequate as a result.

A warm hand pressed against her cheek, thumb rubbing lovingly against the side of her mouth.

"How'd Rick take it?" came the quiet question.

She managed a grim smile. "He was nice. He said we should do it right and that night shouldn't really count. We should do it when we were really ready to commit to each other, and be together for the rest of our lives. And you know… I mean… we did… stuff. Just not… just not that. I don't know."

She wasn't aware there were tears in her eyes until she felt the pads of Blair's thumbs wiping them gently away. Her fingers curled into the satin of Blair's night gown and she found herself suddenly shuddering, eyes closing at her own nakedness.

"Jo… there's no shame in not being ready. There's nothing wrong with you."

She smiled morosely, jeweled eyes opening to look upon her best friend, the warmth of her body pressed into Jo's curves, Blair's flawless features inches away.

"I miss you, Blair," she finally admitted, voice hoarse in her emotion.

In her drunkenness, her inhibitions dissolved, and before she knew quite what she was doing, her head lifted, and her lips clung softly to Blair's mouth.

There was a moment, just a moment, when Jo's stomach sank within her, and she realized with some shock what it was she had done.

She lay completely still, pulling away from the kiss she had given Blair to stare into startled brown eyes.

And then she watched those eyes darken, and bare, smooth legs slid between hers, and there was Blair's mouth, pressed against hers. Her eyes shut with a whimper, the sensation flowing through her to the pit of her abdomen and with a furious pant, lower. Hips arching involuntarily, her fingers fisted in handfuls of Blair's nightgown, as she opened her mouth to her best friend, and to what she herself had initiated.


	3. Chapter 3

Slender fingers buried into thick blonde hair, as a heated mouth slanted over her lips.

An almost violent shock of emotion shook through Jo, her head swimming and her eyes screwed tight, overwhelmed with the sensation of a warm, supple body pressed so tightly against her own, pressing down against the hard firmness of the carpet and the wood.

Blair was on top of her, moaning into her mouth, kissing her wetly and deeply, with wanton abandon. Warm breath skimmed along her skin as lips left hers and traveled to just under her jaw, and Jo's hips arched in reaction, creating yet another heated moan when she connected with a firm thigh, lodged between her legs. Flat palms coasted from her jaw to her neck to settle against her breasts, and the sensation caused Jo to snap her head back against the carpet, forcing a sudden burst of pain.

"Ow."

"Jo!" Liquored breath breathed against hers, and fingers left her chest to palm her cheek carefully. Blair's eyes were dark and heavy. "Are you okay?"

Blinking, somehow still dizzy, and intensely aware of Blair's thigh between her legs, Jo tried to rise above the ringing in her head. "Yeah… I'm… I'm okay." She managed a smile, because it was just a knock on her head and Blair had always told her she was thick-headed. Her left hand reached up, covering Blair's, pressing her hand into her face. "I'm fine."

Blair remained quiet.

The tentative smile on the swollen lips faded when Jo realized that Blair's eyes were no longer trained on her face, but rather, on her hand.

Her left hand, currently gleaming with a band of gold.

An ice cold feeling flushed through her.

"Blair-"

Her friend yanked her hand back, and began to scramble up off of her, so intent in getting away from her she didn't notice when she pushed into Jo's stomach, winding her in the process.

"I'm sorry." Blair's words were whispered, hurried, and Jo struggled to catch her breath. "I'm going to bed," her friend continued, nearly knocking over her bottle of wine as she bent down to pick it up. You don't mind taking the couch, do you?"

"Blair-"

"Goodnight, Jo."

Overly formal, overly polite, Blair turned on her bare heels and headed to her bedroom, shutting the door.

Overwhelmed, Jo found herself unable to do anything but close her eyes and flop back against the carpet, gasping like a suffocating fish. 

\--

Unable to sleep, and quickly sobered, Jo had a lot of time to consider what the hell had just happened between her and her best friend.

Jo had always been rash and impulsive – but she had grown out of that. Back when her mother had begged her to behave herself and shipped her off to a hoity toity school she couldn't afford, she told herself she was going to make good.

It had taken years to curb her impulses, and, she hated to admit, Blair had some small part in that. Years of living with Blair and not being able to kill her whenever the vacuous blonde pissed her off forced her to consider her actions in other areas as well. Instead of fisting her palms and threatening to tear someone's head off, she learned to argue with words. Instead of shoplifting something when she couldn't afford it, she worked hard for her money and saved and threatened Blair when her friend tried to lend it to her instead.

Instead of running off to elope with her childhood sweetheart, she thought long and hard about marriage, and what it meant. She decided to marry Rick, because he was funny and sweet and unlike any guy she had ever dated, and she thought she had made the right choice.

Sitting on her old friend's unfamiliar couch with Blair's kiss swollen on her lips, Jo was her scared, insecure fifteen year-old self again.

She had kissed Blair. No, she didn't just kiss Blair – she full out made out with her. With French kissing and … feeling up, and … she sure as hell wasn't the one who stopped it.

Jo had told Rick she wasn't ready. That it didn't feel right. She thought there was something wrong with her, because Rick panted and sported a tent and so obviously looked ready, and all Jo had wanted to do was run out of the room.

It would take time, she told herself. She liked getting physical – as physical as she had gotten, and twenty-two was the right age. She was mature enough for it. She was responsible and ready and Rick was her husband so it was all okay.

What had happened with Blair had been all wrong, and Jo still had let it happen. She had initiated it.

Sucking in her breath, she stole a glance to the closed bedroom door before pushing off the spotless white couch and headed for the large windows that shed moonlight into Blair's 'modest' apartment.

Below her, the city worked at a night time pace. Headlights, red and white, blinked at her, and she heard the far off blare of a siren.

This was New York.

And everything was different in New York.  


\--

It was morning when the sun sprung into Blair's apartment and flashed across an exhausted Jo's face. Tired, and feeling as though she had been hit in the head with a soft sledgehammer, she pushed up off the white couch and noted with some disgust the drool that collected on the fabric.

"Classy," she told herself, before her knees gave out and she collapsed back onto the sofa, offering a dreary look in the direction of Blair's room.

Her friend had obviously not emerged, judging by the silence. Blair had always been a late riser, but when she woke, she woke up the entire house with her. Loud music and blow driers and showers and humming were not uncommon, and more than once Jo had threatened to wring her neck if she didn't keep it down.

Exhaling slowly, Jo didn't feel inclined to break the silence, because at this moment, sober and no longer uninhibited, she had no idea what she could say.

Blair could laugh it off. Call it a drunk mistake, but Jo didn't make drunk mistakes like this. They weren't high school kids 'experimenting', like what she had heard Blair's idiot friends brag about; this was different.

They were adults.

Shifting on the couch, Jo sat up, ready to move toward the bathroom when a flash of light blinked at her from her hand.

Jo stared at the little band of gold.

There was a marriage.

Rubbing at her face, Jo moved off the couch, the ball of discomfort twisting in the pit of her stomach.

She had to talk it out with Blair. Say it was a mistake and she was drunk and they would leave it at that. Blair would get it. Hell, she was probably as mortified as Jo.

The grimy taste in her mouth resulted in a detour to the kitchen, and there, Jo finally spied the note that had her name etched on it in neat letters.

It was from Blair. She had been called into work on a last minute emergency and would be there all day.

Battling her headache, Jo closed her eyes and let her hand drop.  
  
\--

"I didn't expect to see you today," Jo's mother said, unwrapping her apron and tossing it inside of the booth as she smiled lovingly at her daughter. "I thought Blair had the whole day planned."

Fingering the rim of her cup of coffee, Jo managed a strained smile. "She got called in to the office."

"Well, that sounds important!" Her mother responded, obviously impressed. "Sounds like Blair is doing well!"

"Yeah," Jo agreed, staring into the dark liquid. "Well, you know, she always did say that Peekskill was the dullest town in the world."

"I imagine it would be for someone like her." With a sigh, her mother settled into a more comfortable position on the plastic diner booth and reached over to pat her daughter's hand. "You look tired, Jo. Work's not being too hard on you, is it?"

Grimacing at the idea, Jo shook her head. "I can handle my job, Ma."

Rose's brows narrowed inquisitively, and her hands came together under her chin, watching her daughter with a scrutinizing stare. "I know what it is," she announced, looked entirely too pleased with herself. "You miss your husband."

Jo's mouth twitched, heart thumping against her chest in reaction.

"Right," she managed dryly.

"Oh, sweetie, I know it's hard," Rose continued, reaching over the table to squeeze her hand comfortingly. "But Rick will be back before you know it. And you two can start a marriage and spend the rest of your lives together."

If it were that easy.

"Mom," she began, after a moment of gnawing on her lower lip. "When you and Charlie- I mean Dad –"

"Oh, no – I'm not going to get asked for marriage advice, am I?" Marie looked good-naturedly put-out. "I'm getting old."

"Forget it."

"Oh, Jo, I'm kidding. Please!"

Exhaling, Jo sat up, leaning forward, suddenly desperate to know. "When you married Dad – was it… Oh, Geez…" she muttered, head falling into her crossed hands, beside her coffee. "I can't believe I'm going to ask you this."

"You can ask me anything."

"But this is embarrassing!"

She felt the pressure of a well-meant tap on the back of her had. "Jo, are you trying to ask me about sex?"

Her head jerked up. "… No."

"Jo, it's perfectly normal to be nervous about sex." Jo blinked and suddenly groaned, dropping her head again.

"I can't believe we're talking about this," she muttered, face blazing.

"Sometimes we build such an expectation to sex… it's a little bit of a disappointment when it's not everything we think it's going to be." Sighing, Jo said nothing. "Is Rick not very good?"

Once again, her head flew up. "Ma!"

"Well…" Shuffling in her seat, Rose wore a strained smile, but soldiered on, clearly determined to have this conversation. "It takes time for women, dear."

Blinking at her, Jo clapped her hands over her heated ears. "Ma, I had sex-ed."

"Well, they don't tell you everything," Rose muttered, reaching for the sugar packets. "Goodness knows Charlie could have used a few lessons. And a map!"

"Ma!"

"Some men need to be trained," Rose finished, voice firm and higher pitched than normal. "That's all."

"I never said that was my problem."

"So there IS a problem?"

Crap. Jo smiled mutely. "Nah. I just… I just miss him, is all."

Rose grinned cheerily. "Honey, I know this separation is hard, but Rick is doing this for you both. When he gets back, you two can move in together and start your life together properly."

Jo swallowed miserably, suddenly conflicted, reaching for her coffee cup.

"I'm surprised Blair hasn't had anything to say about all this."

The reintroduction of her friend's name produced a sudden jerk of her hand, and the black liquid spilled over, scalding her hand.

"Aww, geez-"

"Jo!"

"I'm fine," she managed, jerking the hand out of her attentive mother's grip. "What did you mean?"

"Maybe some ice water," Rose muttered, already rising.

"Mom, I'm fine! Just tell me what you mean."

Obviously thrown by her daughter's attitude, Rose nevertheless sat down. "I just meant that Blair is such a curious little thing – I'm sure she would have had an opinion about Rick and the wedding night."

"Oh." Staring down at the scalded hand she was currently gripping, Jo managed a nervous smile. "She's had plenty to say about it."

"That is Blair," Rose sighed. "Lord knows I love her like a daughter, but when it comes to certain matters she treats you like her personal property." She smiled at the idea. "She thinks of you as a sister."

Cheeks coloring, Jo gulped down a swallow of coffee. "Sisters," she rasped. "Right."

  
\--

On a Saturday, Warner Textile Industries had minimal traffic. Just the casually dressed workaholics who snuck in and out. The security guards, eternally suspicious, had to call three different lines before finally getting through to Blair, as the receptionist was off duty, and when Jo finally stepped off the elevators at her desired floor, the lights were dimmed.

Getting to Blair's office was a little like walking through a maze, and after turning at the wrong cubicle for the third time, Jo was ready to give up, convinced that her friend was lost in some sort of office black hole.

Laughter in the fairly deserted floor caught her attention, and she finally found herself facing an open door, and her friend seated just inside of it, enjoying the flirtatious attention of a tall brunette guy in a suit.

Distinctly uncomfortable, Jo sucked in an unsteady breath and, leaning on the doorway for support, cleared her throat, waiting for Blair to notice her.

There was a flash in Blair's brown eyes upon catching sight of her, and her smile stalled slightly, but Blair recovered quickly enough, squeezing the hand of the handsome stranger and pushing him lightly out of the way.

"Jo! You made it."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," she snapped, in a low, dangerous tone. "This place is a frickin' maze."

"You know, I think they do that on purpose?" the dark-hair guy remarked, putting one hand in his pocket and curving the other around Blair's waist. "I remember at dinner Mr. Warner said something about designing the floor so people would have to ask each other where things were."

"I think you just made that up," Blair responded, in a sickenly sweet voice that made Jo suddenly nauseous.

"Oh but it's been tested and tried." He grinned a white, toothy grin. "That is how we met, isn't it?"

Blair laughed, low and sultry and Jo suddenly felt like tearing her ears off.

As if sensing she was being left out of the conversation, the stranger extended his hand. "Edmund. I work in Ad-Sales upstairs."

"How rude of me." Disentangling herself, Blair stepped between them, wearing that ridiculous smile. "Edmond, this is my friend Jo. She's visiting from Peekskill."

Catching the strong grip, his grinned widened. "So THIS is Jo!" He glanced back at Blair. "Wow, you weren't kidding."

"I never do," Blair responded, and Jo narrowed her eyes at her, annoyed and suspicious.

"Kidding about what?"

"Oh, don't look so suspicious, Jo," Blair said, uncrossing her arms as she stepped toward her desk. "I was simply telling Edmond that you and I were complete opposites. The salt to my pepper, if you will."

"The turkey to her ham," Edmond continued, enjoying this.

"The cheddar to my brie," Blair laughed, and the sound sent a dangerous shiver up Jo's spine.

"Would you stop comparing me to food?"

The statement came out a little angrier than she intended, and Edmond's teasing grin faltered before he cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I better get back to work. Blair? See you tonight?"

"Of course." Lifting her head up for a kiss on her cheek, Blair watched him go, a weirdly detached smile on her face as he turned toward Jo.

"Jo, pleasure to meet you." He squeezed her hand, and offered a dimpled smile that made her suddenly want to punch him.

"Right, Ed. Good to meet you too."

When he left, shutting Blair's office door behind him, the room became suddenly claustrophobic.

Dark eyes met and locked with hers, and as Jo found herself breathing unsteadily, Blair glanced away, gaze settling on her paperwork.

"You're seeing that guy tonight?"

Blair's head lifted slowly, catching her expression, before looking away. "It was a last minute invitation. I knew you wouldn't mind."

Jo blinked, mouth opening and closing at her friend's insensitivity. "I wouldn't mind? Blair, I dragged my ass out of Peekskill and missed a day of work to come see you!"

"Well, if that's how you feel about it, why don't you come with us?" Folding her hands together, Blair appeared devastatingly formal. "I'm sure Edmond wouldn't mind the company. He'd do anything for me. He's followed me around the office for ages."

"And what, today's when you gave in?" Jo shook her head in disgust. "And what about this morning? Just leaving – with a friggin' note-"

"I didn't want to wake you-"

"You didn't have to come in!"

"I had an emergency!"

"Oh, yeah!" Striding toward the door, Jo yanked it open, and gestured wildly to the empty hallway. "This place is kicking, Blair. I'm sure they needed you for the entire day." Slamming it shut, she pressed her lips together, suddenly overwhelmed. Reaching up for her temples, Jo closed her eyes, and tried to get her beating heart under control. "Look, we need to talk about what happened."

Eyelids opened just in time to see Blair stiffen, before her head dipped down and bangs fell to obscure her expression.

"Blair… come on. Look, last night-" "Nothing happened last night."

The interruption was smooth, and when Jo looked at her, Blair was now scribbling on typed documents.

"Nothing happened," Jo repeated, shoving her hands into the pockets of her heavy coat. "Blair, I know we were hammered, but we weren't that hammered."

The pen fell to the desk with a dull clack. "Jo, that was a very obvious hint that I would rather not discuss it."

"I don't care about that hint – I think we should."

"Why, exactly?" Blair's hands hit her desk, and her brown eyes were callously dark. "Exactly what purpose would it serve to discuss what happened last night?"

"Because when two best friends make out, it usually means something!" she burst, face suddenly flaming. Blair's mouth pressed tightly together, eyeing her with a steely, focused glare. "Look." Shoulders slumping, Jo came forward, licking her lips when she felt suddenly parched. "I don't know what happened – I know it was a mistake."

"Jo-"

"But it happened. I think we have to talk about it to move past it."

"Jo, honestly!" Blair looked up at her, intensely upset. "Do you really think we are the only two best friends in the world who have accidentally kissed? It happens. It doesn't mean it needs to be analyzed."

"What if it does?"

Brown eyes locked onto hers, features mottled with wary confusion.

Looking into the face of the woman who had made her… feel, Jo was suddenly exhausted, and terribly vulnerable. Coming forward, she fought the ache in her chest, the trembling nervousness that now swept through her veins.

"Blair – I don't know what … I don't even know what I'm trying to say here, but… maybe this happens to best friends all the time, but it's never happened to me. And what I felt last night…"

"Was a lot of liquor and a twisted feeling of nostalgia." Blair's voice was hard, and it cut her, made her feel like she had been slapped. "Nothing else."

"What is the matter with you!" she snapped, rankled above all else, fingers curling into fists, dark eyes deepening in anger.

"Jo, I am your friend," came the firm, direct answer. "What I am not is a vehicle for you to explore your sexual issues just because you can't understand what is wrong with you and Rick." Stunned, Jo found her mouth falling open in surprise. "Because you are married. You do remember that you are married, right?"

Jo sucked in her breath, unable to answer.

"And despite what you or others might think, I am not, nor will I ever be, the willing party to infidelity. I am not my mother."

The air was thick with a fog of tension, and immeasurably hurt, Jo was frozen, driven speechless by her best friend and her cutting speech.

Fingering the ring on her finger, she found herself struggling for speech, blinking at tears and stepping backwards.

"I think I better go," Jo breathed, and Blair didn't give for one instant. Her face was permanently locked in an expressionless glare, and in that moment, Jo saw Blair's father. "I'm sorry," she managed, and wasn't sure what she was apologizing for.

\--

"Jo?" Sitting at her typewriter, Natalie's look of surprise was hard to hide as Jo put her briefcase on the floor. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't getting back until tomorrow."

Jo didn't have the strength to muster a proper snarl. Instead, all she offered was a sad smile. "Yeah, well… I came back early."

Natalie blinked, obviously confused. "But…"

"Blair and I had a fight," Jo said, voice low and resigned; tired. "All right?"

Natalie could be nosy, but she knew Jo: she knew when to keep her mouth shut. "Right. Okay. Well… welcome back, I guess."

"Thanks."

She was already headed up the stairs when she heard Natalie pipe up again. "Rick called. He said he was coming home early." Jo closed her eyes, and sucked in a large breath. "That's good news at least."

Eyes stinging, and feeling her insides twisting, Jo turned and stared at her concerned friend. Because she loved Natalie, she managed a smile.

"Yeah," she breathed. "That's great news." 

**\-- end chapter three**


	4. Chapter 4

It was a fight.

Blair and Jo had fights all the time. They couldn't go a day without having a fight. Hell, they couldn't go ten minutes without a fight. Usually they blew over with no serious damage. Once in a while, when someone was really affronted, there was collateral damage, usually in the form of Tootie or Natalie, and in one particularly bizarre incident, Andy.

The worst it ever got was a couple years ago, when Jo had forgotten to leave Blair a message stating that the Helen of Troy competition had been rescheduled and Blair had gotten nearly mauled by the school mascot as a result. The series of revenge pranks that went on became so vicious that Jo had gone to a computer, of all things, in an attempt to figure out how to resolve it.

The computer stated, quite simply, that there was absolutely no merit in the friendship and the only real logical thing to do would be end the relationship.

Jo considered the idea for all of five seconds, before she got a glance of Blair animatedly talking to one of her admirers in the hallway.

That was all it took for her to trash the computer's analysis and dismiss the computer itself as a putz.

Just like that whole fiasco, this would blow over. Blair would steam and stew for a few days and then she would see reason, and Jo and Blair could dismiss the entire thing as a drunken mistake and no one would ever have to speak about it ever again.

It was a frivolous fight, and riding home on the train, Jo convinced herself that that was all it could be.

To think it could be anything else would invite a complete sexual identity crisis, the confrontation of a marriage she had committed herself to, and facing the idea of having some sort of… attraction to Blair Warner, of all the freaking people in the world.

There was no way.

None at all.  
  
\--

Jo would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes she hated her job.

Lately, those moments far outweighed any days with any sort of validation.

The television donated to the Center had been turned up by an elderly lady named Abigail who was hard of hearing, and it wasn't helping her mood any.

Had the culprit been the one of the gaggle of kids that haunted this place, Jo might have had less patience. She was used to barking at the kids, instructing them with warnings but never threats, and usually, unless they were feeling particularly stubborn, they obeyed her.

Abigail was, however, a sweet old lady volunteer, who forgot her hearing aid on a daily basis and didn't have her own television because she was deathly afraid of having such a large electronic 'gadget' plugged in all the time.

Despite the fact that Jo was battling a migraine, she dealt with the noise.

It wasn't the worst thing that had happened that day, at any rate.

She had reported another child to foster care – a sweet little girl who confessed to her that she had been molested by her step-father while her mother worked in a diner to try and pay the bills.

Her mother, blind to the follies of her live-in-lover, had crashed into the center, railed at Jo and had gone so far as to have thrown a punch, before Casey had been forced to push her out.

In these instances, Jo felt helpless.

It was becoming a feeling that seemed to consume everything else with this job, and itchy to try and make more of a difference, she felt lost with her powerlessness.

"Joanne," she heard, in a squeaky voice. "Look, it's Blair!"

Eyes lifting to the screen, she saw a news segment on Mr. Warner and his latest acquisition, and sure enough, by his side, was Blair, looking calm and collected and every inch her father's daughter.

The sight brought an unexpected lump into her throat, and Jo looked back down at her desk.  
  
\--

Tootie was never one to let things go, and when she discovered, on her return from her retreat that was to prepare her for summer stock, that Jo had returned from New York a full day before she was supposed to, she made her feelings on the subject known. Loudly.

"I can't believe it, Jo." Tootie had the extremely annoying trait of sounding like an extremely bossy version of her own mother when she wanted to. "You and Blair couldn't even make it one day before getting into a fight?"

Exchanging a cross glance with Natalie, Jo looked up from the Scrabble board. "Tootie, I said I didn't want to talk about it."

Tootie slumped down, staring down at her cubes, infinitely dramatic. "But I just don't get it. You and Blair have been best friends forever, Jo."

"And they'll stay best friends, Tootie," Natalie snapped, already losing patience with the subject. "One fight isn't going to change that. They're just fighting over a longer distance, now. It's still your turn, Jo."

The last thing she felt like doing was playing scrabble. "What did she tell you?" she asked Tootie.

"Nothing!" Tootie sighed, slumping in her chair. "I call her up after I hear you two have a fight and ask her about it and she says nothing about it. Absolutely nothing. That's how I knew it was serious," she said, as an aside to Natalie.

Jo sucked in a ragged, annoyed breath, and looked at her stupid little tiles.

Natalie's brow rose. "That's true, Jo. I mean… when you two have a fight you do everything you can to try to get us to pick a side."

"We do not."

"I remember a certain lawsuit over a broken watch that says otherwise." Natalie fiddled with her Scrabble pieces. "Maybe if you tell us what you fought about one of us can get through to Blair. She's been known to see reason. Not right away, but… she has her moments."

Exhausted, Jo closed her eyes and pushed away from the table.

"I don't have time for this. Rick is gonna be here tomorrow and I've got a ton of work to do so… I'm just not up for this."

"Jo, come on. We're your friends."

"Seriously, Jo. You can talk to us."

"No, I can't!" The outburst came before she could stop it. "And you know what? I don't want to. The only person who I should talk about this is Blair and she's not talking to me. So I'm gonna go and work on my bike and then I'm going to go to work and I'm going to concentrate on my husband coming home, all right?"

Twin sets of surprised expressions stared at her.

"Glad we're all on the same page," she managed hoarsely, and jogged upstairs.  
  
  
\--

When Rick came home, he, as usual, made a production out of it, including a man dressed up as a chicken, some cheesy poetry, and himself as a main event.

He was utterly familiar with his sandy blonde hair and megawatt smile, and when his lean body pressed against hers and long, muscular arms wrapped around her, Jo shut her eyes shut, dizzy with relief at the warm feeling that encompassed her.  
  
  
\--

"Just let me get these files," she said, leading him through the community center and heading for her desk. "And then we'll get out of here. Works been absolutely insane lately, and Casey's been leaving all the political stuff to me, now that Blair's not here to handle it."

"Fine," Rick said, rocking back on his heels, always enthusiastic. "Speaking of the debutante, how was your trip to New York?" he asked her, leaning against her desk. "How's Blair?"

He asked while jutting his hips out and pretending to toss his hair over his shoulder, a terrible imitation of her best friend.

Smile stalling, Jo simply looked away.

"Good," she said brusquely, sorting quickly through her files. "Back in New York where she belongs."

"Indeed." Taking a pencil from the desk, he began to balance the end of it on his thumb, eyes narrowing in concentration. "I gotta admit, I never understood what a girl like her was doing in a town like this."

Struck by the generalization of the statement, Jo paused mid-search, glancing up. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean… it's Blair," he answered, before the pencil clattered down onto her desk. He bent back down to retrieve it. "She's a big-city girl. She's got big-city money. And big-city dreams." He blinked, suddenly listening to himself. "I sound like a movie trailer."

"Rick…"

"Just saying, what's in Peekskill that could have kept her around so long?"

Crossing her arms, Jo felt suddenly affronted. "Maybe her friends?"

"Or maybe Casey," Rick snorted, tossing a nod to the man in question, as he passed them by, a newspaper under his arm. On his way to the bathroom, probably. "I can see it. Spurned by her boyfriend – she leaves her small-town, on a train New York bound." His palms spread in emphasis. "Never to return." He smiled. "That really would make a good movie. Working Girl 2: The Debutante."

Crossing her arms, Jo found herself profoundly disturbed by the summation of her friend. "Blair wouldn't stick around here and then just leave because of a guy. Especially a guy like Casey."

"Blair isn't small town," he said, concentrating on his stupid pencil. "C'est la vie. She's back in her world. Where she belongs."

"You don't think she'd come back?"

He glanced at her quizzically. "Why would she?"

It was a good question. Why would Blair ever come back?

"Oh, look at this," Rick mused, picking up a discarded newspaper. "Your old school is closing."

"What?"

"Eastland," he said, flipping open the cover page to show her. "Apparently it's really in the red. That's gotta be a bummer for you girls."

Emotion clogging her throat, Jo stared at the large newspaper print.

"Things happen," she breathed, turning away. "We've all moved on."  
  
  
\--

Rick was the same as he had always been. Funny, handsome, sweet.

He was her husband, and took pride in pointing out her ring to everyone in the community center, making sure they knew it.

He was so happy.

It made Jo sick.

She had taken refuge in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, taking in the bloodshot eyes, and the strained expression that haunted her.

What happened between Blair and her meant nothing, and she was determined to treat it at such.  Hell, she just missed Blair. It was an odd turn of affection, but that was what happened. She had still betrayed Rick. She had still hurt Blair, though how she had done that, she didn't want to dwell on.

Now, she was faced with her own consequences, and like a coward, she was hiding from them. Jo had to stop hiding. It wasn't fair to Rick, who thought he had come back to a loving and (more or less) patient wife, ready to start their new life together.

Straightening her shoulders, Jo sucked in her breath, and after one last look at her own guilt-stricken expression, unlatched the door and moving forward, ready to rejoin Rick.  Unexpectedly, her heart dropped, her breath quickened.

Rick smiled sunnily at her. "Jo! Speak of the devil! Look who it is."

Standing beside Rick, wearing a pleasant smile and dressed in a tailored blue power suit was her friend Blair.

"She's lost for words," Blair said, a hint of a chuckle behind her voice. "How uncharacteristic."

"Well, you know the wifey," Rick joked as Jo came forward, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "We weren't expecting you at all."

"Well, to be perfectly frank, I wasn't expecting you either. Casey told me you were off today, Jo. I figured with Rick back you'd be getting reacquainted."

Rick snorted, and puffed up like a peacock. "Oh, we're saving the good stuff for later."

"I'm just picking up some paper work," she mumbled.

"Ah."

"We were just about to head out to dinner," Rick responded, squeezing Jo again, making her feel dangerously close to suffocating. "Why don't you come with us?"

Hesitating, Blair once again locked eyes with Jo.

For her own part, Jo found herself unable to look anywhere else. Her heart had graduated from stuttering to a really odd pounding, and as her palms were beginning to sweat, she could feel herself dangerously close to fainting.

"Thank you but no. I'm on my way to Eastland," Blair's tone was polite, distant, and was being far sweeter to Rick than Jo had ever remembered. "My father is on the board, and when we heard about it closing, I asked him as a personal favor to let me come down for a weekend and see if there was anything I could do. I'm very fond of our Alma Mater."

"So if you're supposed to help at Eastland, what are you doing here?" Immediately, she winced at the tone. But this was, after all, her domain, and in the middle of a fight, Blair wasn't supposed to come down here and knock the wind out of her and stand in a room and make nice with her and her husband when he had no idea they had made out.

Hell, that really was such a damned 'BLAIR' thing to do.

Blair stared at her for one long moment, and then looked away. "Casey asked me to stop by to look over some matters with the Center," she answered lightly, and sure enough, there he was, in his curly-headed greasy wonder, looking at Blair like she was a prime steak he had been salivating after. "Hi."

"Hey," he answered, looking almost nervous as he smiled at her. "Ready to go over those books?"

Blair smiled, that sweet smile she had always given Casey, and for some reason, it now made Jo sick.

"Great."

Casey was now looking at Jo rather expectantly, and unsure why, Jo narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"I need those."

He pointed, at the very files Jo was carrying, and of course Casey would pull that sort of shit. He didn't know a damned thing about the budget, and of course it didn't matter, because he was using this to get some alone time with Blair.

"She's seeing someone," she blurted out, shoving the books so hard in his gut he nearly doubled over. "Don't get any ideas."

Witnessing the exchange, Blair's mouth opened in surprise, and smoothly, she reached for Casey's elbow. "Come on, I don't have a lot of time."

"See you at the house, Blair?" Rick asked, polite and happy.

Once again, Blair hesitated. "No, actually. I'll be staying at a hotel. That place isn't my home anymore."

This time, she didn't look at Jo.

\--

Rick was disappointed she hadn't found an apartment yet, she knew that. They were a married couple, and deserved to be together, and that didn't mean upstairs together in a house inhabited by nosy best friends, two teenagers, and Beverly Ann, who was something in between.

It wasn't Jo's first choice, either. Stepping into the room and changing into her nightgown, having to deal with Tootie and Natalie's knowing grins and Beverly Ann's nervous gestures as she and Rick made their way upstairs somehow paled in comparison to actually being there, in a room she still considered hers and Blair's.

In his actual presence, she felt the guilt associated with her drunken actions, and now, there was a tension inside of her, as she stepped barefoot into the room and caught a phantom image of Blair, lounging on her bed, carefully perusing her law books.

Jo wasn't used to sharing her bed. The closest she ever came to it was Blair's periodic nighttime hostile takeovers of her bed, and that was because Blair once in a while got it in her big dumb fake blonde head of hers that it was perfectly all right to cuddle when it was too cold and the heater was broken. It never seemed to matter that Jo would complain about icy feet and stolen blankets. Blair had absolutely no problem ignoring her barbs and wrapping her arms around Jo, insisting that Jo was nothing more than a living hot water bottle and it was really her fault anyway – because Jo always insisted she could fix the heater instead of calling an actual electrician.

Jo had come to see Blair's periodic invasions as a necessary evil, and had even come to see Blair's logic, because Blair would mold herself to her side and didn't even snore, making for a rather cuddly and comfortable companion.

Rick was tall and large, and Jo found herself openly squirming, as she tired to settle against the broad chest of her lean husband.

She felt oddly possessive of her small amount of space, and she hesitated against Rick, because as much as she could mouth off to Blair, she highly doubted her own husband would react in the same way.

"I have something to tell you," he said, fingers rubbing through her scalp, as they huddled together on the twin bid, Jo's head resting against his chest, hearing the rhythmic thumps of his heart beat.

"What is it?" she asked, distracted and uneasy to the binds of marriage. Her breath had quickened despite herself; she was nervous, and in a burst of misplaced logic, she hated Blair for it.

Somehow, this was all Blair's fault, because if it just hadn't HAPPENED, maybe she wouldn't have to tell him about it.

If Blair hadn't decided to come on some frivolous excuse like their damned school closing, Jo wouldn't be completely absorbed with the wounded look in those brown eyes as they stared at her.

Maybe she wouldn't be thinking about Blair at all.

"I impressed some amazing people," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. Raggedly, her eyes fluttered closed. He was possessive and gentle, because as her husband, he had every right to be. "And they want me for another tour."

"That's good, right?" she asked, voice a soft squeak.

"Yes, and no." Pressing a kiss against her temple, he leaned back, tilting her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes. "It means leaving again. Soon."

"How soon?"

"Two days," he answered, remarkably serious, and Jo's lips pressed together, chest tightening as a result, caught between relief and guilt at the reaction.

"You should take it," she managed in a rough voice. "It's good for your career, right?"

"I'm sorry, Jo," he said, apologetically angry at himself. "This isn't how a married couple should start their life together."

Married wives weren't normally apt to making out with their best friends either, she thought silently to herself, and bit back her nausea.

"Well," she answered unsteadily, "It's not like anything we've done so far is normal, right?"

He seemed amused at that. "I wouldn't want to be normal anyway."

And that was where they differed. Jo wanted to be normal. She wanted it desperately.

A normal newlywed. A normal woman.

When Rick's lips slanted over hers, she shut her eyes, sucking in a trembling breath as she smoothed her palm up his jaw and over his cheek.

Rick had always been careful, respectful. But he was a passionate man. His broad hands smoothed over her shoulders possessively, and when slanted over her body and thrust his tongue into her mouth, she shuddered, broken with the sudden flash of another body tented over her, a sweeter tongue gliding through her parted lips.

The differences were tangible. The differences were consuming.

Jo fisted her fingers in Rick's hair, but it was short and there was almost nothing to hold on to.

Her eyes shot open, and she arched her hips, waiting for that feeling, that crazy, overwhelming feeling, to overtake her, like it had with Blair.

His hips pressed against hers, and she felt the hardness of his arousal, blatant and proud and… THERE.

"Jo, I've missed you," he whispered thickly, his rough voice burning into her brain. A possessive palm settled on her breast, and kneaded as his body moved, clearly ready. "I love you."

The words, meant to excite, created the worst possible reaction, and with an enraged moan, Jo tore her lips away from her husbands, pushing at his chest, suddenly pleading with him to stop.

"Jo?" he managed, moments later, dense with lust and surprise, and of course he would be surprised, because he had no idea what she had done – what he was being measured against.

"Rick, stop-" she managed, and with a burst of strength, shoved him off, so quickly he lost his balance and teetered off the bed.

"Jo!" Rick looked too stunned to be angry.

Wiping hotly at her tears, hating herself suddenly, Jo lifted her knees to her chest and stared down at him.

"I'm sorry," she managed thickly. "But there's something I gotta tell ya."

\--

  
She had rarely seen Rick angry. He wasn't the type.

When he did get angry, he was never loud. He was never violent. He was quiet and intense, without humor at all.

At the moment, the laughter and humor that usually bubbled up in her newlywed husband had gone quiet, and it left a angry, somber man in it's wake.

But what really was the appropriate reaction to learning your new wife cheated on you? To learn that she not only took your vows and stomped on them, but she had done so with her best friend, another woman?

He stared at his hands, as if at the moment he couldn't bear to look at her.

Crossing her arms, trying her best to hold the tears stinging in her eyes at bay, Jo didn't particularly blame him.

Her heart throbbed.

"So … I'm a little confused, here," he finally began, blue eyes dark and stormy. "What exactly do you want me to say, Jo? What was the point in telling me?"

"I don't know," she managed, behind a raw and thick throat. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. It was a mistake, Rick. But I couldn't be with you and … and just lie about it. Not after those vows we took."

"You mean the vows you had taken, when you decided to stuff your tongue down Blair's throat?"

There was the anger, and she shuddered, an uncharacteristic wince at the crude description. "That's not how it happened."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No." Coming forward, she tried to reach for his hand. "Look, Rick – it was a stupid mistake – I don't know what it meant-"

"Well then maybe you should have figured it out before you told me!" he snapped, lifting off the bed and reaching for his pants. "Because it sounds like to me that what it meant was pretty damned important!"

"Rick."

"So important that you obviously had to tell me-" His movements were jerky, voice thick in his emotion. "So… what is it? Are you telling me that you're… that you're…" he palmed his hand down his face, trying to make sense of it. "Is that why you couldn't be with me?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying, Rick!" She sounded angry, and she knew she had no right. But it was in her nature, like a wounded animal, to snap when snapped at, to bite right back. "Look, I didn't have to tell ya, okay? I could have just let it go and forgotten about it, but I wanted to be honest."

"Okay, be honest." Fully dressed, his hands were on his hips, eyes narrowed and sharp, like a hawk's. "Who started it?"

"What?"

"Who started it? Did Blair come on to you? Get you drunk and have her way with you?"

Her eyes snapped shut, and she ground out the truth. "I did."

"Right. And who stopped it?'

"Blair did."

"And if she hadn't?"

Suddenly dizzy, she sucked in a lungful of air, trying to keep her head. "I don't know."

Maybe if they had already slept together, he wouldn't have gotten so upset. Maybe if she hadn't just alluded to the fact that maybe, just maybe, she might have taken that step with Blair when she couldn't take it with him, he might have dismissed it as a careless fumble between best friends.

But to his credit, Rick wasn't just a guy. He was smart and considerate and despite the funny man demeanor, was capable of truly looking at a person and seeing the damning truth.

"You weren't ready for this," he said hoarsely, and grabbed his jacket. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

"Where are you going?'

"To Casey's," he snapped, heading for the door. "I need somewhere to crash tonight. And you need to figure out what you want."

"I do know what I want."

He paused, and stared at her. "If you did, you wouldn't have had to tell me."

  
\--

Her door opened at 3AM.

She expected Tootie or Natalie, or even Beverly Ann, on another misguided quest to give her motherly advice.

She didn't expect Blair, slender hand resting on the doorknob, face expressionless as she took in Jo's pathetic figure, sitting cross legged on the bed, fingering her ring.

"Natalie and Tootie called me," she announced firmly, voice level and secure, as she closed the door behind her and walked forward, heels clicking on the dark wood. "They heard Rick and you fighting and were too afraid to come in here."

"And what, since you were in town you got the short end of the stick?" she managed, throat clogged as she looked at a beautiful, neutral expression.

Blair crossed her arms and sighed. "Don't I always? Besides, they said that you've become an insufferable jerk every time they try to help. 'Worse than the Grinch' was Natalie's term."

The sentence wasn't particularly funny, but it made her smile miserably, and she snorted unattractively, wiping at her eyes and shaking her head, as she felt the mattress bob with the weight of her friend. "I told him what happened."

She heard a hiss beside her. "Jo, why would you do a thing like that?"

"I don't know," she whispered, staring at the ring as it glimmered in the moonlight.

There was a pause, then a soft exhalation. "You knew he wouldn't understand."

"Maybe I still don't understand," she managed, nakedly honest at this late hour. "I don't know why I missed you more than I missed him. And I don't understand why I could feel the things I felt with you that I never felt with him. I don't understand how I can marry a guy that's so damned perfect and instead of being excited about that, be driven crazy by the fact that you left me for New York."

It was said. It was out there, and in the face of it, there was no right way for Blair to react.

Jo was too tired to be terrified, but when she felt a soft, supportive arm wind it's way around her shoulders, and felt the pull of a friend drawing her in, she choked on a sob of relief and lay her head on Blair's shoulder, grieving for her broken marriage.

**\-- end chapter four**


	5. Chapter 5

In the wee dawn of the morning hours, Jo found herself in the self-aware neurotic state reserved for those broken down from lack of sleep, warring emotions, and too many thoughts swirling around in her head. 

Physical contact with Blair, real contact, hadn't happened since their impromptu make-out session, which, incidentally, started this whole mess to begin with, and yet Jo didn't move away. 

At the moment sapped of strength and pride, broken-hearted and emotionally bruised, Jo had no wisecrack to give, no defensive jerk of her shoulder that would tell Blair she had had enough of the cuddling. Jo's temporary insanity drove her to seek out the warmth of Blair's shoulder, inhale the rich scent of her perfume, palm a slim waist. Against her will, she sucked in a sob, and at the sound, Blair just held her tighter. 

"Why are you crying, Jo?" 

Blair's voice was soft, like Jo knew it could be, when there wasn't anyone around. No pretension, nothing behind the tone, Blair simply saying whatever it was she wanted to say, for no one's benefit but her own. 

Suddenly aware of how tightly she was clinging to her friend, Jo shut her eyes, and pulled back. Blair's arm around her shoulder trapped her from moving away completely, and Jo found herself inches away from concerned brown eyes, an intensely serious face. 

"Why do you think I'm crying?" she snorted, aware that she must have been distinctly unattractive at that moment, with blotchy red eyes and a runny nose. 

For once, Blair didn't seem to notice her less-than-stellar appearance. 

"Rick won't leave you," she told her matter-of-factly. 

The statement seemed odd, coming from Blair, and settled so intimately in her friend's embrace, Jo found it off-putting. "I think he just did." 

"He was angry. He stormed out. God knows you've done the same thing to me." 

"This isn't the same as all that." 

Dark eyes studied her for a moment, then looked away. "Point taken," Blair said, oddly detached in a way that made Jo's stomach turn. "But my point remains intact. Rick loves you; he won't end a marriage simply because you had a drunken kiss with your best friend." 

Blair sounded so unaffected. 

"God… you really don't get it, do you?" she breathed, and Blair only kept staring, lips a thin line, pressing together. "It wasn't just a kiss to me, Blair!" The hand dropped and Blair glanced away, and she rose off the bed. "You're making it sound like… like…" 

"Like what it was." Hands on her hips, Blair turned on her heel, orbs sharp with the glitter of a glare. "Unless there is something you told him, that you're not telling me." 

Suddenly speechless, Jo could only stare, a wild panicked feeling fluttering up the pit of her stomach and blasting in her ribcage. 

Blair, apparently, wasn't in the mood to wait, because the arms came down and she came forward, looking frustrated and trying to keep her temper. "Jo," she sighed, settling hands on her shoulders. "It's four am in the morning. You're emotionally distraught and quite obviously disturbed. Get some rest and sleep this off, and I promise you, you and Rick will still have a marriage. I'll talk to him myself if I have to." 

"You'd do that?" Jo never remembered Blair as the type to take responsibility for anything if she didn't have to. 

"Fix your problems? Don't I always?" 

"Don't you always make them worse?" 

"That's neither here nor there," she snitted, and the two lapsed in silence, staring thoughtfully at each other, an unexpected smile playing on Jo's lips. 

Stepping back, Blair gathered her coat. "I have an 8AM meeting with the Eastland School. Good night, Jo." 

"You're leaving?" the open crack in her voice at the sensed caused an obligatory wince, but again, an oddly-out-of-character Blair Warner didn't call her on her sudden neediness. 

"I have an 8AM meeting," she said again, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, as if that explained everything. 

In a sense it did. But the fact that Blair Warner – self-imposed pain-in-her-neck, was leaving their room to stay in a hotel when she would probably be awake in an hour to wash, blowdry, and do whatever the hell Blair did in the bathroom anyway just seemed… idiotic. 

Additionally, at the moment Jo was consumed with an odd empty feeling that was also compulsively and confusedly induced with the need to be with Blair. 

"Blair, this is your room, too. You can just stay." 

Blair glanced at the empty space where her bed used to be. 

"Just sleep here." 

Once again, the look Blair gave her seemed furious. "Jo, really?" 

She glanced back at the full size bed. "What? It's big enough." 

"Indeed." Draping her coat, Blair laid it angrily against the desk chair. "Jo, I realize that it is very late and you're not thinking clearly, but allow me to walk you through this. Rick has just been informed, on the night that he was meant to consummate a marriage with his wife, that said wife has 'cheated' on him with her best friend while he was away." The air quotes Blair was using didn't seem to dampen the twist of Jo's insides. "Currently, Natalie and Tootie are more than likely pressed with their ears against the door." Moving heels to the aforementioned entryway that linked their bedroom to Natalie and Tootie's, she banged on the door pointedly. Immediately, Jo heard a scuffle of bodies, scurrying away like hidden mice. Rolling her eyes, Blair turned once again toward her. "Because they are gossips, and can't keep their mouths shut to save their lives, they will most likely in some comedic-turn-of-events, relay the idea that immediately after he left your room, I entered it. Imagine the consequences if he were to discover not only that I was here, but that I spent the night? In your bed? Jo, I'm not even sure I can fix that." 

She said it so clearly, so blatantly. They were sitting in their old room and Blair was calmly telling her that in Rick's eyes, she was a rival for Jo's affections. That Rick wouldn't forgive her for asking Blair to spend the night, not now. That if Jo went through with asking Blair to spend the night with her, it would mean the end of her marriage. 

Sitting quietly, Jo contemplated the situation. Rationally, if she wanted to save her marriage, she should be okay with Blair leaving. She wouldn't be asking her to stay. 

Glancing up, she caught sight of an expressionless face, an impatient stance. 

It occurred to Jo that at the moment, she had no idea what Blair was thinking, or what Blair wanted from her. 

The very idea frightened her more than she wanted to admit. 

"I know," she managed finally, voice low and rough. "But I don't want you to leave." 

It was a simple truth, pulled out of her out of pure need, eradicating both her concern for the ramifications of what this meant or her fear that Blair couldn't or wouldn't feel the same way. 

She would stay because Jo asked her to, because she knew what it took for Jo to ask, because Jo hated to admit when she needed something. 

There was a long silence, during which Jo struggled to breathe, and then she heard it: a sigh, she saw it: in a muted, darkening expression, before Blair placed her hands on her hips and closed her eyes, taking a moment for herself, before kicking off her heels and heading to her. 

Tense with sudden awareness of her friend beside her, Jo offered a weak smile, feeling a suddenly-familiar flutter as the bed sunk down with her friend's weight. 

"Thank you," she managed. 

Caught between an expression that looked both confused and inordinately not pleased, Blair simply stated, "You'll be the death of me, Jo."

  
\--

There was something distinctly different about the way Blair settled into her bed.

She made no complaints about the borrowed shirt from Jo, despite that fact that it was cotton and obviously not nearly up to her standards. She stepped into the bathroom to change, and when she came back in, skin glowing from a clean scrubbing, there was an awkward stiffness that Jo hadn't ever seen before, as Blair averted her eyes and slipped in beside her, careful to stay on her designated area. 

"Thanks," Jo said again, still. 

In the midst of settling in, Blair's blonde head lifted slightly from the pillows. "Only for a couple hours. My things are all at the hotel." Dark eyes shone at her over the expanse of the bed. "Goodnight Jo." The word was careful, polite. 

Exhausted, and unable to sleep, Jo found herself staring at the blonde head one foot away from her. 

Her friend was rude, condescending, entitled, thoughtless, selfish… 

The words flitted through her head, but without the emotion that usually charged through her when she ranted on about Blair. Instead, they seemed almost mechanical, because if Blair was really that thoughtless, that selfish, she wouldn't be here at this moment. She wouldn't be so sensitive to Jo, at the expense of herself. 

Hot tears began to sting in her eyes, and embarrassed, Jo flipped over suddenly, doing her best to control herself as she brought a trembling palm to her mouth. 

"Jo?" 

The rustle of sheets and swish of fabric told her she hadn't been quiet enough. A warm hand settled on her shoulder, and at the contact, she sucked in a sob-soaked ragged breath, confused at the way her chest tightened as a result. 

"Jo, what's wrong?" 

Pressure on her shoulder forced her on her back, and Blair loomed over her, obscured in shadow, as long blonde strands tickled her collarbone. 

Forcing herself in control, she managed to swallow down the incredible lump in her throat, intensely aware of the fingers that brushed gently at her tearducts, wiping at the salty droplets. 

"Jo," Blair began, obviously struggling for something to say. "It will be okay. You and Rick… you'll find a way to make it work." 

Blair would be this dense. 

The tears stopped, when the anger came. 

"You really don't get it, do you?" 

A mottled, confused look beamed in her direction, as the fingers against her face stilled. 

"My marriage is over, Blair." The words were said. They were out there, in the open, and Jo found, as they mumbled over her lips, she felt something inside her crack as a result. 

Blair didn't move. "You can't know that for sure." 

"I can," Jo answered, voice thick and full with her harsh whisper. "Don't you see? I can't stay married to Rick. It's not right." 

"Because you kissed someone else?" Blair sneered, voice reaching a hyperactive curl. "I know men and women who have done much worse." 

"Worse than falling for their best friend?" 

The statement was swallowed by a blanket of intensity. Mouth dry, Jo's heart began to pound, drum against her chest as she distinctly felt the press of Blair pressed against her, felt the heat of Blair's stare looking down on her, the burn from the feel of fingers against her cheek. 

"Jo," said Blair, and her eyes narrowed, her voice thickened, a choked, panicked expression. "Please, don't." 

"Blair…" 

"Must you be so selfish?" Blair's eyes were wide, and Jo finally saw her fear, her confliction, as she didn't move from the incriminating position concern from her friend had left her in, half on top of Jo. Fingers moved from her cheek to Jo's thick brunette hair, tangling in it in an effort to be sincere. 

"I'm being selfish?" 

"Jo – I'm in an extremely competitive work environment. My every move is being watched, scrutinized. I need to prove myself to my father. To his company. To pursue this… it just won't do." 

Tears were drying on her cheek, and gathering her resolve, Jo's fingers inched between Blair's waist and the bed, fingers fanning to press against warm fabric, the soft firmness of Blair's back pushing back against the pressure. 

Blair exhaled, and deep breath inward sunk her further into Jo's embrace. 

"Pursue what?" 

"Jo, we were drunk. We weren't thinking clearly. And tonight – you're obviously distraught. To consider what this is to be anything but a … farce-" 

If Jo let her, she knew Blair would say enough to piss her off. 

She'd lose her nerve.

Lifting her head, she cut off Blair's words, dissolved them into a whimper as a warm mouth met hers. The hesitation was brief, and suddenly Blair's fingers tightened in her hair and the lips began to move, hungrily brushing against hers with desperate abandon. 

The jolt inside of her, that flash that made her hips arch and her blood boil, came back with a vengeance. 

Jo relied on instinct, as her mouth opened and Blair's tongue swept furiously inside, as she kissed her wetly and with sincere need. It was sloppy and uncontrolled, as tongues brushed against teeth and against lips. Desperate to be closer, Jo curled an arm around Blair's shoulder, smoothed the other up her back, and then there was the amazing feeling of breasts, pushing against hers, as Blair's body moved and a thigh settled in between her legs. 

She cut off the kiss as a gasp escaped, and as her throat arched, she felt Blair drag her lips from her mouth to just under her ear. 

"Oh God," she managed, and clawed at her friend's shirt, clutching the fabric with fisted handfuls, as Blair breathed hotly against her earlobe. Desperate, she grabbed hold of Blair's face with both hands, forcing those torturous lips back to her own.

\--

It was six in the morning, and the sun, risen about ten minutes before, had begun to peak in through the window located just above Jo's bed – a prized location given to her by Blair in a fit of generosity years ago, when she discovered that Jo had sold her bike for the privilege of a shared room. 

The sharing, Jo thought, nestled intimately against her friend, had never been quite this literal. 

Lips swollen after hours of exploration, Jo felt the heady buzz of desire drumming through her. The ache, forever present in her gut and further south, had reached a steady pulsing rush, and yet, she had been careful of the boundaries, for Blair's sake at least. 

Passion had been purposely dialed down to a simmer, and Jo, no longer desperately trying to force Blair's denial away, remained gentle, regarding Blair more tenderly than she ever remembered. 

At the moment, her best friend, eyes flutteringly sleepily, swept a hand over her cheek, and Jo smiled into the kiss Blair gave her, familiar now with the way Blair liked the murmur into her mouth, before stealing her words with the soft swipe of a tongue against her lips, the possessive palm of a hand stealing up her stomach. 

"What?" Jo breathed, smiling into her friends mouth as she pulled away, reverently catching Blair's fingers before they reached her highly sensitive chest, tangling them with hers. 

"I said, I have to go," Blair answered, voice rough with lack of sleep.

"No you don't," Jo smiled, so giddy it was pathetic, and opened her mouth again for a lazy, intimate caress. 

"Yes, I do," Blair answered a minute later, palming the side of her face lovingly to ease the sting of rejection. "I have that meeting at Eastland and then I have to catch a noon train to New York." 

As Blair moved, out of her arms, and out of her bed, the reality of Jo's situation began to slowly sink in. No longer in the sweet sanctuary she and Blair had created, the complexity of her situation began to manifest itself. 

Leaning up on her elbows, Jo studied her old roommate as she carefully put herself together as best she could, ready to leave her. 

"Did you want me to go with you?" 

Blair paused, startled by the question. "I can't imagine why you would want to go. You haven't expressed an inkling of interest in saving Eastland." 

"That's because it's not our business if the school can't manage its own books, Blair," she sighed, momentarily lulled into the security of a good squabble. "I can barely keep the Center afloat, on what you give us." 

In the middle of reattaching an earring, Blair offered a skeptical glance. "I took a look at those books, Jo. Casey is doing a fine job of running the Center on what the Foundation has allocated." 

A hot flush of anger spread on her cheeks at the evocation of Blair's former boyfriend. 

"Casey doesn't really see what's going as much as he should have." 

Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, Blair considered the idea. "He did seem a bit lost during our meeting yesterday." Coming forward, she sank onto the corner of the bed, offering Jo a small, gentle smile. "I just assumed it was a lack of attention based on his complete devotion to revisiting the past." 

Curling her knees into her chest, Jo snorted. "I bet that wasn't all he wanted to revisit." 

"Can you blame him?" Blair asked haughtily.

The sentence sank into a suddenly thick atmosphere, and swallowing, Jo found herself shaking her head. 

"No, I guess I can't." 

Her friend lingered, long look burning into her eyes with an intensity and focus she was beginning to ache for. 

Straightening, Blair broke the stare. "Casey has a lot on his plate right now." 

"Casey always had a lot on his plate," Jo retorted. "But not as much as me, considering it's me that's running the damned place." For the moment overwhelmed by her bitterness, she stared down at her hands. "Everything he doesn't want to do he pushes over to me and I hate it." 

"Well, if you hate it so much why do you take it?" 

"It's not my place," Jo answered, brow narrowing. "He's my boss." 

"And since when has that stopped you?" Blair answered blithely. "You've never known your place, Jo. You ordered french fries at the Russian Tea Room."

"I didn't want anything else." 

"And that's my point," Blair answered simply. "Jo, you always went after what you wanted - you always knew what you wanted. If this job isn't what you want anymore..." 

"What? Quit?" 

"If that's what you want, then yes," Blair answered evenly. 

Suddenly, it didn't seem like they were talking about the job anymore. 

"It's more complicated than that," she sighed, after a brief pause. 

"If it's not what you want, what's complicated about it?" 

Blair was talking her into a corner. "People depend on me." 

"That's your own delusion talking." Blair straightened, fussing with the cuffs of her jacket. "Jo, the simple truth is they were fine before you came and they'll be fine after you're gone. You've always made a habit of burying yourself so deeply into your own causes that you fail to see that when you make yourself a foot soldier, that only means there are ten thousand just like you ready to take your place." 

"I'm a dime a dozen?" Despite herself, Jo was actually stung by the idea. "That's your big point?" 

"No, my point is that you're more than that." The tone was flippantly complex - but then again Blair always was a walking contradiction. "And you've let your own fear get in the way of figuring that out." 

"You're one to talk." It put her on the losing side of a power struggle, to be sitting up in a bed with rumpled bed covers, while Blair smoothed out her own long strands, morphing back into her new stylish, professional self. "Isn't what you're doing in New York the same thing? Doing what's expected of you by your dad?" 

Blair's brown eyes met hers, and a small, sad smile flitted across her lips. "Jo, by taking the job and working hard and succeeding at it, I'm doing exactly the opposite. I need to go." Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss against Jo's cheek. Jo found her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. 

"Am I gonna see you before you leave?" 

Already rising, Blair kept her head down. "I'm not sure if I'll have time." 

It occurred to Jo, in a part inside her that seemed affronted and horrified on her behalf, that she was acting prematurely clingy and needy, and not at all like herself. This was, after all, Blair, and by all logic, Jo should have been glad to be rid of her. She had a crumbling marriage to worry about, the circumstances of which she was positive her boss Casey would have learned by now, because Rick was never one to keep things a secret, especially to his best man. 

"Well... don't you think... we should figure some things out?" 

"Oh, I think we each have quite a few things to figure out," Blair snorted, focused on tying the buttons together on her coat. "At the moment, however, things seem to only get more complicated when we attempt to figure them out together." 

In her unspoken way, Blair was finally acknowledging what they had spent the better part of the early morning doing. 

"Maybe that is figuring it out." 

"Not for me." Blair straightened, regarded her with a mixed look of civility and passive stiffness. "You're still married, Jo, and I..." Searching for an expression to describe her own unknown state, Blair's hands landed on her hips, finally giving up. "What do you want from me, Jo? Do you want to date me? Do you have feelings for me?" 

Jo hadn't thought nearly that far. 

"I don't know." 

"Of course you don't. You're so lost in your own impulsive need to follow your repressed instincts and emotions that you could care less about semantics. You've always been passionate and impulsive, Jo - it's one of the things that I've always admired and hated about you. But if you did know what you wanted, and what you wanted was me, it doesn't make the situation any easier." 

"You kissed me back." It was a shoddy defense, but it was the only one Jo had. 

"Of course I did," the budding law student admitted, shrugging her shoulders as if that was irrelevant. "I love you, Jo. Granted, it appears to be deeper than I ever thought it was but it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting on that train today, and I'm going back to New York." 

"And then what?" 

"And then I have a board meeting to prepare myself for and three days worth of backlogged files that I put aside in favor of coming down here. What we did doesn't change what really happened last night. There's still a chance for your marriage, Jo. If that is what you want." 

"And what about what you want?" 

Dirty blonde bangs were smoothed out of the way. "You don't know?" 

"No," she replied thickly. "I don't." 

Her emotional response must have finally melted the ice frosting over Blair's heart, because her friend finally took pity on her coming forward to once again sink down beside her on the bed, cupping her chin lovingly. 

"Then we're even," Blair began, gently and simply. "Because I don't know what you want. And I refuse to make the decision for the both of us, only to have you regret it." Impulsively, Jo reached for Blair's hand, and covered it with her own. "You're not the only one that's confused, Jo," she continued. "I want to help you with your marriage - I was prepared to." The pad of her thumb slipped over Jo's bottom lip, the swollen skin that had been so thoroughly kissed by Blair's own lips. "Unfortunately I seem to be nothing but a constant barrier." Her hand came down, slipping out of Jo's grasp. "I'm your friend, but I won't be your mistress, Jo, and it seems that lately we can't be alone with each other without immediately gravitating towards that type of arrangement." Blinking away sudden moisture, Blair got up again, suddenly all business. "You'll have to figure this out for yourself. Talk to Natalie. Or Tootie, or even Beverly Ann. They want to help you, if you'd let them. I won't be involved until it resolves itself, one way or another." 

"Blair," she began, but didn't know what else she could say. 

"I'm entirely too invested in how it turns out," Blair announced, slipping on her heels, now in a focused process, readying herself to leave. "And I don't want to be. Even if you decide you don't want to stay married to Rick, I'm not sure if I'm ready to be a lesbian - if that is in fact what we are - nor am I ready to face my father and his peers with that alternative reality." She momentarily shuddered at the thought, before shoulders straightened and Jo was met with a beautiful, professional woman, who had somehow taken the place of her own spoiled debutante. "There are a thousand maybes, Jo, and there is no happily ever after on any horizon." The corner of Blair's lips trembled. "I hate you a little bit for that." 

Blair clicked her way toward the door, and pulled it open, not the least bit startled when Natalie and Tootie unceremoniously tumbled in, falling into the room on top of each other. 

Dark brown eyes regarded them thoughtfully, then turned to a speechless Jo. 

"It's your bed, Jo," Blair announced, stiff and final. "You made it." 

Stepping over their stammering and apologizing best friends, Blair made her way out of the room, leaving Jo alone with her two red-faced friends.

**\-- end chapter five**


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, I will say this for you," Natalie Green announced, chewing on her thumbnail, wide-eyed. "You've had a hell of a night."

Natalie and Tootie were seated across from her, mimicking an impromptu slumber party. They hadn't moved for an hour. That was how long it had taken Natalie (with Tootie's occasional help) to get past Jo's defenses, which came in the form of surly answers and short, mean quips.

Thankfully, Natalie's nosiness had pushed past any lingering sensitivity to Jo's conflicted nastiness, and Jo, at the moment missing Blair and still stinging from her best friend's parting, didn't have the strength to keep her perpetual Greek Chorus at bay.

She wouldn't admit it, but it was almost a relief to finally let it go, to hear it out loud, and not have it be this sordid secret that existed in her and Blair's twisted version of intimacy.

"I need to say something," Tootie Ramsey decreed, sitting cross-legged on Jo's bed, hands folded neatly in her lap. "Just to get it out of the way."

Focused on Natalie's hand folded tightly in hers, Jo glanced up with red-rimmed eyes.

"You know what the Bible says about homosexuality..." Tootie began, and Jo looked away, wincing, even as Tootie continued quickly, "I just had to mention it. I know we're all thinking it-"

"Oh to hell with all that, Tootie!" Natalie's fingers tightened over her fingers. "This is Jo and Blair we're talking about!"

Fingers tangling nervously in her fingers, Tootie opened her mouth, and then closed it again. To her credit, she looked ashamed. "I'm just saying..." she managed, weaker than before. "It's something Jo should consider."

Jo knew better than to take it personally. Tootie, as awkwardly as she had come off, had a point, and her friend always had been known to be dramatically picture perfectly inclined.

"Believe me," she managed, "I've considered it. You think I want to be a screw up?"

"Falling in love isn't screwing up," Natalie interjected carefully.

"How about cheatin' on your husband?" she asked, New York accent thicker in her exhaustion. "How about wreckin' your marriage?"

Beaten, Natalie's shoulders slumped. "Well, yes. That is screwing up."

"God," Jo breathed, and held up a warning finger to Tootie before she could be reprimanded for taking the Lord's name in vain. Letting go of Natalie's hand, she fell forward, face falling into her sheets.

Warm hands settled hesitantly against her back. "It'll be okay, Jo."

Eyes shut tight, Jo responded by wrinkling the sheet against her cheeks, closing herself further off.

"I mean it. Look, you and Blair will work through this. And ... as far as the Rick thing..."

"Do you still want Rick?" Fingers moving, Jo snuck a look at a dubious Tootie. "I'm just saying!" Tootie began, stammering quickly. "I see Jeff as my true love, and I have absolutely no inclination to start making out with Natalie anytime soon. No offense, Nat," she added, as an afterthought.

Natalie shot her a dry glare. "The feeling is completely mutual," she drawled, and then turned her attention back to Jo. "But Tootie does have a point. Also? I think you should pick Blair."

The statement, said so frankly and completely out of nowhere, forced her to sit up, lips curling into an unintended snarl. "What?!"

"Natalie!"

"Well, I'm sorry! I know I'm supposed to be impartial and non-judgmental and objectively, I really am. But... it's Blair! I love Blair. And I know Blair loves you. And... it's all so lesbian and sweet and sordid and romantic- oh God - I could write a story about this!"

"Hey - keep my misfortune out of your pages," she growled.

"You write what you know," Natalie responded, getting ahead of herself now that she was in the throes of literary inspiration. "And what I know is Jo and Blair, sittin' in a tree-"

"Knock it off, will ya?!" Jo's cheeks began flaming red as soon as Natalie burst into song. "No one's sittin' anywhere!"

"Did you, or did you not, spend the better part of last night making out with her?"

The truth, blatantly put out there, brought forth another deep flush and a sigh from Jo. "We didn't start doing it until 4. The making out," she added, when Tootie looked scandalized. "Look, it's just all happening so fast, you know?"

"True love usually does," Natalie offered helpfully. "Look at Mrs. Garrett."

"That's true," Tootie grudgingly admitted. "She fell in love and then forty-eight hours later she was out of here." She made a face. "Is that really all it takes to want to leave us?"

"If that's the case we need to find Beverly Ann an out-of-towner," Natalie cracked.

"Natalie." Tootie's tone was warning.

"Oh, relax, Hitler. I was kidding." Hopping on the bed, making it jiggle, Natalie turned her attention back to Jo. "But seriously, pick Blair."  


\--

 

She was living in a farce.

Pick Blair.

Really. Pick Blair?

Natalie was insane!

Like it was that easy.

It wasn't that easy. There were things to consider.

First of all, it wasn't as if Jo was in a position to PICK anyone. This wasn't a fork in the road, it was a whole friggin' intersection. It was more than an intersection; it was a cliff, or a side of the building, and Jo was standing on the ledge looking down at the splattered remains of her old self.

She had been on a side of a building, recently as a matter of fact, clutching with desperate fingers and yet refusing to leave the other women who had forced her out there.

Of course, Blair had got wind of the situation, interrupted at the most inconvenient time, and starting 'helping' by blabbering on about how there was no shopping when you were dead, and begging Jo herself not to jump because she loved her.

Jo remembered wanting to kill Blair, because, hello, she was trying to talk someone off a freaking ledge here! She didn't really remember what she had said to Blair after that, but she remembered the look in Blair's eyes, the sincerity and honesty of the simple statement that, for a second, drove deep inside of her before common sense kicked in.

Who woulda thought, after all these years, that it would be Blair in that window, trying to talk her down from suicide?

And here she was again, on a stupid metaphorical ledge, and instead of leaning out and holding out a hand and telling her that she loved her, Blair had gone and told her she had put herself on the damned ledge and she could very well talk herself back down.

The irony in that was something only Natalie could appreciate. Jo as hell didn't.

Jo saw things as black and white. She lived for her causes. She liked to think that she could die for her causes. When she was a felon, she went and did it properly, and when she was reformed, she was a friggin' saint.

It didn't matter that she wasn't happy. It didn't matter that her job with the Center caused more headaches than it cured, and that she hated feeling so powerless, hated working under Casey, hated being stuck in a room where there was so much bad out there that she knew she could help fix.

She was proud of her work. She knew that somehow, someway, she was making a difference. It didn't matter that any schmuck could do her job. There was no saving grace in seeing the grey lines in between, and she had worked her whole life to make good.

She was a social worker, for Christsake! Not a cheating married lesbian! 

And yet, that's what she was. That's what had happened, in this bed, and if she wanted to be honest with herself, she had wanted it bad. She still wanted it bad.

Before Natalie and Tootie came in, while she was in here with Blair, all she knew was what it was like to really hold Blair, to shiver with anticipation at the feel of lips gliding eagerly against hers, to understand what it meant to ache for something, and the giddy feeling that came with the frustration of wanting to be with someone.

For the first time since Jo had become a married social worker, her life planned out for herself with pretty roses and no twists and turns, kids and a husband and a steady job laid out for her, planned for the rest of her life, Jo felt alive.

And that was dangerous.

It was dangerous like it was dangerous to take a turn too fast on her bike, feeling the wheel skid under her, kicking up gravel and feeling the bike shake dangerously underneath her. Dangerous and addicting, to play with her reality, shake it up so badly she couldn't recognize it anymore.

Sitting on her bed, Jo twitched, nervous and excited and frightened beyond all belief, because there was more to this than falling for Blair.

She wasn't ready for it.

Jo couldn't stay in her room forever. She had to leave it. She had to step outside and face her own reality, and she knew for certain, nothing would ever be the same.

There was no perfect road. There was only a ledge.

Pick Blair.

Staring at the closed door, Jo snorted at the thought.

She was going to kill Natalie someday.  


\--

Jo had the sense to call in sick.

It bought her a day; one day to sit in her room; one day to process; one day to hide.

One day meant Blair was safely in New York, out of reach.

There would be no last minute ditches to the train station, or showing up unexpectedly at an Eastland Board Meeting, with an infuriatingly needy Jo begging Blair to take some responsibility for all this and not put the whole blasted thing on her.

One day meant Rick had time to absorb this. He had time not to be so angry, and maybe, just maybe, Jo could look him in the eyes and ask her handsome, sweet husband what to do, because she had no idea.

One day meant Beverly Ann, knocking hesitantly at her door and leaving sandwiches and heated soup from a can at the door when she didn't answer.

It meant finding little folded notes with 'PICK BLAIR' written in Natalie's scrawl and colored notes swished in right after that said 'DON'T LISTEN TO HER- THINK OF JESUS' written perfectly by Tootie. And then finding another one slid in an hour later, in identical handwriting, that read 'BUT BLAIR'S SO NICE AND IT WOULD BE AMAZING IF YOU TWO DID MAKE IT WORK BECAUSE THEN WE'D NEVER HAVE TO REALLY BE APART AND JEFF AND I WOULD HAVE A PLACE TO VISIT IN NEW YORK - MAYBE GOD COULD MAKE AN EXECPTION."

One day meant not having to face Casey, who she was sure would know everything, and would give her that mean, angry look that she'd been giving him since she had come back from New York.

For one day she could pretend that nothing was different and she wouldn't have to call her mother, and hear the disappointment in her tone when she found out how badly she had messed up the happy ending her mother wanted so badly for her to have.

Jo wasn't a coward, but in her weakness, she allowed herself one day.

When it was over, after a sleepless night in a bed that was haunted by Blair's obnoxiously sweet smelling perfume, Jo got up, got dressed, and left her bedroom.

She was still scared as hell, but at least she was doing something about it.

  
\--

There was a note for her, when she got downstairs. That was all. Just a note.

No guy dressed like a chicken, no big production with show girls and a poster board, and maybe a bunch of balloons. Rick had sent her a simple envelope, with none of his bravado and humor.

It had been left on the table, and there was a slight smudge mark of ash on the corner which told Jo that someone (Natalie, more than likely), had gone through the trouble of attempting to read it over a candle and had only succeeded in burning it slightly.

Jo found the idea humorous rather than offensive, and the small smile that flitted through her numbed features brought forth a rush of emotion so fierce she nearly broke into tears.

Sniffling, she tried to hold it together, as she slid a fingernail underneath the flap of the envelope and pulled out the handwritten note, in Rick's messy, nearly illegible writing.

"Dear Jo," it began, formal and polite and nothing at all like her hooligan. "There's not much to say and I'm going to spare you the pain of having to say it. To be honest, I know you better than you think I do, and knowing you and your stubbornness you'll do something stupid like try to stick this out, and I'd be dumb enough to let you. And honestly, the only way it would ever work would be to ask you not to see Blair again, and there's no real point in that, because I know you wouldn't.

When it comes down to it, that really says it all, doesn't it?

I'm leaving early for my tour. I think, all things considered, that's what's best. Casey knows a lawyer. I gave him a call this morning. He says we have grounds for an annulment. I've given him my information. He knows how to reach me. I'll sign whatever I have to.

I don't know if we can be friends, Jo, so please don't ask. I need time. Maybe I'm chickening out by refusing to fight this, but you were always the fighter anyway.

Rick."

That was it.

Hot tears stung, and she turned the page over, hoping for some sort of joke, some limerick, some teasing parting line that proved to her it was really Rick that wrote this.

There was nothing.

"He dropped that off this morning," a voice interjected, and Jo discovered Beverly Ann, standing nervously beside the stairs, large palms smoothing down her dress. "I told him you were home, but he said he didn't want to disturb you."

Focused again on the note, Jo could only manage a phantom of a smile. "Well, why would he? It's only the end of our marriage…" The hand fell, and Jo shut her eyes, shuddering. "It just happened so fast."

"Oh, Jo…" Fingers came around her shoulders, and unable to resist the warmth of a maternal figure, Jo slumped into Beverly Ann's skinny frame, shuddering as the other woman held her tight, shushing her like a baby. "Jo, I'm sorry."

Jerking her head away, Jo began to sniffle, rubbing her shirt sleeve against her nose, blinking at her tears. "No," she managed, trying hard to keep herself together. "It's all right. It was me. I messed it up. It never would have been right after what I did." Jeweled eyes clouded at that, and Jo shrugged. "I messed up, Beverly Ann. I did. I know it."

"It takes two people to end a relationship, Jo."

"Well, then if that's true, I ended it first." To acknowledge that, what she had said to Blair, before she had leaned forward and kissed her friend, gave her back a measure of power, of stability. "It's for the best."

"I thought you loved him, Jo." Poor Beverly Ann didn't understand, and how could she? Her divorce destroyed her, and Jo had done to Rick exactly what had been done to her. It didn't matter if the marriage had lasted months or years.

"I thought I did too," she finally admitted, folding up the paper and drying her eyes. "But turns out, I don't know as much as I think I do."  


\--

It was stupid to think that things would look differently at the Center.

Jo's world had turned upside down, but true to Blair's twisted wisdom, the Center had chugged along at its own leisurely pace.

The same old group of kids were playing at the foosball tables, and there was the same TV blasting with the same group of seniors crowded around it.

Aside from a few 'Hi Jo! Hope you're feeling better!'s, no one gave any indication that they knew that Jo's short-lived marriage had fallen apart thanks to a torrid affair with a female.

Jo's desk was as cluttered as when she left it, and for a moment, she had that to focus on, sorting the piles and cursing the bills, before a somber, curly-hair man stepped up to her desk, and stared at her.

"My office," she heard Casey order, when she looked up and met his steely glare. "Now."  


\--

Casey was tense. The vein underneath his jaw pulsed, and his teeth were vividly clenched. He shifted in his chair, and he flexed and unflexed his palms for a full three minutes. 

"Whatever you have to say," Jo sputtered finally, losing her patience. "Just say it."

"I'm trying!" he snapped, and in a huff of exasperation, stood up, driven to pacing. "You know if you were a man, I'd punch you in the face," he spit.

The New York honesty drew a rather inappropriate smile on her face. "Don't let me stop you."

"I'm not gonna," he wheezed. "You're a chick. I don't hit girls. Even girls that cheat on my best friend with my girl."

He was half right.

"She's not your girl." Jo's eyes glittered with resolve. "You had your chance, Casey. And you let her go."

"And now that you've got yours, you're not gonna, is that is?"

"Blair isn't my girl," she snapped, fighting an inward wince at the idea. "She's just a girl, and she's a great one, who deserved better than you wanted to offer."

"And what you're offering is so much better? Life as a dyke?"

She had expected the word eventually. She didn't expect it to sting as badly as she did, the verbal recoil, as if she had been slapped.

She took small comfort in the fact that Casey, at the very least, seemed sorry he said it.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," she finally managed, oddly cowed, pushing up from the chair.

"Jo…"

"I'm quitting." The words came out before she could stop them, and she stood, frozen at the door, startled.

"What?"

She turned, eyes wide. "I'm quitting," she said, feeling the words in her mouth, tasting them intimately. Her heart sputtered. "I'm not happy here."

He got to his feet, palms spread wide. "Jo, come on. Look, yes, I'm pissed, but don't take it out on the Center. It needs you."

"No," she managed, struck at her own nerve. "No, Casey, it really doesn't. And you know what? I can do better. I want to make a difference, but in my own way."

"What the hell did Blair do to you?"

She swallowed away the lump in her throat. "This isn't about Blair, Casey. This is about me. And what I want."

He stared at her, looking at her like he was seeing a stranger. "So that's it? You're leaving?"

As if it were that simple.

Hand on the doorknob, Jo stared at him, with his strong, handsome job, and dark, rich eyes.

Maybe it was.

"Yeah," she answered, and exhaled slowly. "That's it."

She turned the knob, and exited the office.  


\--

"Blair Warner's office." 

Leaning back on a worn, comfortable couch, Jo found herself smiling affectionately. "Hey, Felipe. It's Jo Polniaczek."

"Miss Polniaczek!" He sounded warm and happy to hear from her. "How are you?"

"I'm …" the word stuck in her throat. "Getting there," she settled for. "How's the racing?"

"At this moment, not happening," said the foreign voice. "I took a spill, broke my arm."

"Oh, man." She hissed in sympathy. "Got a cast?"

"All over my left arm. It itches. It makes it really hard to type, but Miss Warner says I just need to learn to type one-handed, because she's not typing those letters herself."

"That sounds like Blair," she remarked ruefully.

"Otherwise she's been very accommodating."

"And the biking?"

"As soon as the cast is off. Nothing is going to keep me from that track."

"That's a good point of view. Hey, I'd like to see you compete sometime."

"Yes! Let me know the next time you come to New York!"

Stalled, Jo hesitated. "I will. Listen, is Blair there?"

"She's right in her office. One second," he answered, and Jo immediately heard the tone click into a really bad version of Bruce Springsteen's 'Dancing In the Dark'.

Jo twined the chord in her fingers, curling her feet underneath her, as she straightened up, feeling oddly nervous, bracing herself for the velvety voice of her best friend.

When the song cut off, she heard Felipe's apologetic voice. "Miss Polniaczek, I'm really very sorry but Blair had a last minute meeting she had to run to-"

Eyelids drooped, and her chest tightened at the obvious lie. "Right."

"I can leave word."

"That's okay." She managed a carefree tone that sounded a little pathetic, when her voice cracked at the end of it. "I um… I'll call her later."

"I'm sorry, Jo."

"Yeah," she breathed. "Bye, Felipe."

She was still in the same position, staring at her hands, sitting on her couch, when she heard the keys jingle and her mother walked into her tiny apartment, holding a bag of groceries.

There you are," Rose said, voice chipper and lighter than Jo was used to, an obvious attempt to keep things… buoyant. "I heard you stopped by at the diner."

"Yeah," she said, waiting a beat before getting up and taking the bag of groceries from her mother. "I was on my way back from an errand and just wanted to see if you had a few minutes free."

"I'm sorry I missed you," Rose answered politely, pulling out a stalk of celery and a bag of apples from the bag that Jo placed on the tiny table. "As you can see, I had an errand of my own to run. I was thinking about chicken soup tonight. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds great." She pulled out the freshly bagged chicken, garnered most likely from Ralph, Rose's preferred butcher, and glanced up uneasily at her mother. "Mom? I went to the Precinct, today."

Rose's movements faltered. "Didn't commit a crime you had to turn yourself in for, did you?" she asked pointedly, but her eyes smiled kindly.

Jo laughed lightly in response. "No. Actually I was there to take a test."

"To take a test?"

"Yeah…" Balancing the can of chicken broth between her fingertips, she stared at the label. "You see, if you want to join the Force, you gotta take this test. And if you pass, then you have to take some more tests. And then there's a background check… and a date to get into the Academy…"

"Hold it." Rose crossed her arms, her voice hard. "Joanna Marie Polniaczek. Tell me you did not go and just decide to be a police officer."

Losing strength, Jo chuckled nervously, and looked away. "Okay, I won't tell you."

The room was deadly quiet.

"Is this some sort of post-teen crisis I never heard about?" Rose asked sharply. "Move in with Mom, join the Academy-"

"Don't forget trashing your marriage," she joked weakly.

"That's not funny."

She sighed, unable to take her eyes off the linoleum. "I know."

"Jo?" Comfortable, matronly sneakers stepped into view, and then maternal fingers forced her chin up to regard kind dark eyes. "Is this what you want?"

She blinked, that lump in her throat impossible to ignore. "I think it's a start," she managed.

"Are you sure?"

Her mom had asked her that question thirty times since she had landed on her doorstep two weeks ago.

"Yeah, Ma, I'm sure."

Throwing her hands up in surrender, Rose turned on her heel, and grabbed the chicken. "Heaven knows why I'm even surprised anymore. What does Blair have to say about this? Plenty, I'll bet."

It was easier to pretend she and Blair were still friends than to explain to her mother why Blair was avoiding her. Hell, it was easier to avoid Blair than to think about what it meant to want to see her as badly as she did.

It had taken Jo a month to work up the nerve to make that call.

"You think?" she asked, grabbing the celery and a knife.

"Well, I highly doubt your best friend would want you tramping off after hoodlums at some God-forsaken hour of the night! She would probably tell you you were insane! Have you told her? I bet she already has."

Jo couldn't fight her smile. "No, I haven't told her. I'm gonna though. I'm gonna see her tomorrow."

"You are?" Rose seemed politely distant, focused on the slippery chicken. "That's nice."

"I want to see her," Jo admitted, and a ripple of satisfaction curled up her spine as a result.

Gripping her knife, she attacked the celery, cheered at her own resolve.

**\-- end chapter six**


	7. Chapter 7

"Is Miss Warner expecting you?"

She had been expecting that question.

Fingers knitting together, Jo offered what she hoped was a nice, gentle smile. "Not, really, no. I was kinda hoping to surprise her."

Getting in to see Blair seemed harder than getting to the President. Knowing Blair was avoiding her, Jo had purposely stayed away from Warner Textile Industries. She envisioned her name, blacklisted on some sort of high profile memo, and that frightening receptionist looking at her the very same way the security guard in Blair's expensive apartment building was eyeing her now: as if she was some sort of hooligan. Even though Jo had made an effort to look nice, the skirt and shirt topped with a jean jacket still seemed inadequate.

"Look, I've been here before."

"Miss Warner doesn't take uninvited guests."

It was definitely a far cry from Peekskill, where Jo could just stomp up the stairs and pull Blair out of her bed by her sheets.

"Well, she'll take me."

"You seem awfully sure of that, don't you?" a familiar aggravated voice interjected.

Stiffening, Jo whirled. Blair stood just behind her, clearly dressed for going out, in a stunning low cut black dress and a pair of sinfully high heels.

Suddenly self conscious, Jo found her voice. "Actually, I wasn't," she admitted. "But this guy didn't have to know that."

"Miss Warner, is this young lady a guest of yours?"

Her friend seemed reluctant to break eye contact, and when she did, shifting her gaze to the security guard, Jo dizzily realized she had stopped breathing.

"Yes, Tom. Jo is an old friend."

"I'll make a note of it, Miss Warner."

"Thank you, Tom."

Another guest, one currently carrying a yappy, fluffy little dog, came forward, seeking the guard's attention, forcing Jo to step closer to Blair, away from the counter.

Oddly shy, she exhaled slowly, and dug her hands into her pockets. "You look nice."

"I have a drinks date." This was said stiffly, in an overly formal tone. Typical haughty Blair. In the month they had been apart, Blair's bangs had grown out, and everything was less… puffy. She looked elegant and graceful. Grown up. "You've cut your hair."

Suddenly self conscious, Jo's hand drifted to her shorn locks. She still forgot sometimes.

"Uh…" she laughed nervously, grabbing a handful of brunette strands, letting go just as quickly. "I kind of had to. They said it was too long."

"Who said it was too long? Not that I don't agree."

Of course she agreed. Blair had once referred to Jo's now defunct perm as a rat's nest.

"My NYPD officer."

"Oh my Lord, you've been to jail and now you're on parole."

"No," she sighed, rolling her eyes at the immediate assumption. "My recruitment officer. I'm joining."

Crossing her arms, Blair absorbed the news. "Come again?"

"I'm joining the NYPD."

Long lashes blinked, before perfectly plump lips parted, then shut just as quickly. "Get upstairs," Blair said finally, all formality gone as she pointed toward the elevator. "Now."

"Huh?"

"Upstairs so I can talk to you about this insanity."

"What about your drinks?"

"Tom?" Blair called sweetly.

The security guard straightened immediately from his guest. "Yes, Miss Warner?"

"Please call my assistant Felipe and have him extend my apologies. A last minute appointment turned up and I'm afraid I'll have to reschedule with Edmond."

"Of course, Miss Warner," he said immediately, reaching for the phone.

"Your drinks were with Edmond?" Her question sounded a little more pathetic than she intended, and she was grateful that Blair ignored her in favor of grabbing her by the elbow and shoving her toward the elevator.   


\--

Blair's hands seemed to literally shake as she fumbled with her keys. She seemed ridiculously focused on the task, and when Jo offered to help she snapped at her in a way she had never done before.

"You just gotta jimmy it-"

"I know how to work my own door, Jo!"

Sighing in aggravation, Jo stepped up behind her, reaching for the knob. "Look, just let me-"

"Get off," Blair hissed, low and dangerous, jerking back so fast she pounded back into her. Jo suddenly realized she was now inches away from Blair, close enough to smell the perfume wafting, to stare at red lips.

She stepped back, uncharacteristically agreeable. "Sorry."

Blair shot her a dark, thoughtful glance, and then suddenly focused again on her entrance, this time having no trouble with her lock, pushing the door open with her shoulder and stepping into her apartment.

Breathless, Jo followed.   


\--

"So?" Blair asked, dropping jewelry into a small bowl sitting on an antique desk beside her coat rack. "Explain."

Jo went momentarily dumb. "Explain?" she asked. "You mean, like everything?"

Hands on her hips, Blair looked like an angry school teacher. All haughtiness had been abandoned for furious concern, and that, it seemed, dissolved any lingering awkwardness from their last encounter.

"How about we start with what insanity prompted you to join the Police Academy."

"Oh." Relieved at the easiness of the question, Jo tugged on her ear, breathless. "I just… I just wanted to."

"You… just wanted to?" Blair repeated, eyes narrowing at the sentence. "Jo, do you realize what on earth you'll be doing?"

"Protecting and serving?"

"In slums!"

"I wanted to make a difference."

"What kind of difference will you make wading through Hell's Kitchen kicking bums off puke-infested porch steps!"

She did paint a nice picture.

"That's not all I'll be doing!"

"Well forgive me. You'll also be directing traffic!"

"Stop making it sound like it'll be meaningless."

"I should have expected this," Blair muttered, pacing on her heels. "I was expecting this. I expected the Salvation Army or the Peace Corps… I expected Aids Camps in Africa- what am I saying? I'm just giving you ideas!"

Blair's outright indignant concern seemed… refreshing. Jo fought the smirk, recognizing the thrill inside of her to be once again in the company of her infuriating friend. "It'll be okay, Blair."

"How will it be okay? Who on earth gave you such a ridiculous idea?"

"You did."

"Excuse me?" Blair shot her a pointed index finger. "You take that back."

"I'm not taking it back, you bleached Blonde Ditz!" The name-calling did the trick. Blair seemed knocked out of whatever haze she had been under, and Jo shut her mouth, allowing it to sink in before stepping forward, shrugging out of her coat. "Don't you remember? You told me if I wasn't happy, to do something about it."

Blair opened her mouth, ready to deny the accusation, before she thought better of it, shoulders slumping. "I hardly meant taking a job that included an ugly uniform."

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I won't be wearing that uniform forever. It's the badge I'm after. The recruitment officer told me that I look young. I don't look like a cop. With my background I can do undercover after my 18 month probation. After two years in that, it's an automatic skip up to detective."

"If you manage to live that long."

By this time, she had managed to sneak up on her skittish friend, close enough to place warm palms on her forearms, chuck a beautiful chin gently. "I'm gonna be okay, Blair. Thanks to you."

The intimacy thickened the tension around them, and Jo felt her heart skip a beat when she noticed dark eyes lingering on her face, her lips.

Her heart in her throat, she waited, fingers skimming idly along Blair's bicep.

A beat later, after an audible breath, Blair stepped back.

"And what does Rick have to say about all this?" she began, in an unsteady voice.

She was obviously flustered. Jo took that as a good sign.

"I wouldn't know," she said, as lightly as she could. Inhaling, trying to reserve her strength, she watched Blair intently. "He's in Europe, on tour. We're legally separated."

In the middle of fussing with a wine bottle, Blair glanced up.

Afraid to sound too hopeful, Jo licked her lips, and kept going. "We're getting an annulment. There's this lawyer that Rick got, he says we've got grounds. It should be done by the end of next month. We already got our court date."

Blair's eyes drifted back down to her cork.

"I assumed when I didn't hear from you after the last time…"

Jo's chest ached. "You didn't take my call yesterday. I was gonna tell ya-"

"After all this time, the only feasible reason you would call would be to tell me you had worked it out," Blair answered, voice small. She fiddled with the bottle. "I didn't want to hear that. I wasn't ready for it."

The moment was fragile, precious.

"I'm sorry," she began, as tenderly as she could, completely aware of how important it was to get this out right. "I should have called sooner. I wanted to. I did. Blair, I knew what I wanted the minute you left me that night."

Blair's hand slipped, she stuck herself on the screw. Hissing, she held up her uninjured hand, keeping Jo from coming to her. "Don't. I'm okay." She pressed the palm of her hand against her mouth. "What did you want?" she asked, a moment later.

That really was the question, wasn't it?

"I want you, Blair." Jo's voice cracked, and she heard herself and couldn't bring herself to care. "But I didn't – Blair, it wasn't fair to you. I kept expecting you to come in and fix it all for me, and that wasn't right. I needed to get my head straight. I needed to make sure things were... settled before … just… before."

Her friend didn't move for what seemed ages. Then she turned, avoiding Jo's eyes, fumbling for the faucet and letting the water rush over her injured hand.

"Blair." The figure didn't move. "I remember what you said. I understand that just because I've figured it out doesn't mean that… that you're ready for anything."

The water shut off, and cascading blonde waves moved as Blair glanced back at her, visibly frightened. "What if I'm never ready, Jo?"

Somewhere inside her, Jo hurt at the possibility. For the sake of her friend, she managed as comforting a smile as she could. "Then I'll deal with that."

"Jo, really."

"Hey," she interrupted gently, coming forward, letting the counter provide the physical barrier Blair needed. "You wanted me to be happy. You were willing to accept whatever that took." Brown eyes flickered away from her. "What kind of friend would I be if I couldn't do the same?"

With a ragged smile, she slid her hands on the counter, taking comfort in the cold seeping up from the textured marble.

"Okay?"

She forgot how scared Blair could be, how insecure her friend appeared when she truly let her guard down. How, when there was no one but her looking, Blair seemed to soften in such a way that Jo couldn't help but want to take care of her, and hate every person in the world that made Blair think that without her figure or her fashion or her looks, she wasn't good enough.

Driven by the turmoil of her own personal crisis, by the feelings evoked within her, by her own reaction to the events of the past few months, Jo now understood what that emotion was.

She decided to cherish it.

When Blair smiled, small and careful, at her, she knew at the very least, she had her friend back.

Blair had a high-profile career to worry about. She was living in her father's shadow and learning the hard way what that meant. She was terrified of ending up the way her mother had been – divorced over and over and unaware of what it meant to really commit.

Falling for Jo, falling for a woman, just didn't fit into her world – there had been no room made for it, and Jo understood that just like what she had dealt with, there would be consequences.

Whether or not to face them was Blair's choice, not hers.

It was Jo's turn to wait.

  
\--

"GOD-DAMMIT, BLAIR!"

She was hot. Sweat had trickled down her neck, right under her collar and itched underneath her vest, right where she couldn't reach it.

Thankfully, at the moment she was too pissed to really care.

Her shoes squeaked as she followed the blonde executive into her office, watching as Blair angrily stripped off the expensive blazer she had been so careful of at the damned swanky restaurant Jo had found her in, flinging it on her chair carelessly.

"Joanna Marie Polniaczek! Flashing around a badge and a gun does NOT give you the right to act like a Neanderthal!"

"But it gives you the right to act like... like...a..." Pulling off her cap, Jo sputtered, too unhinged to try and think of an appropriate quip. "Tart?!"

"A tart?!"

"Yes, a tart! What with the leaning forward and the idiotic giggle - he was trying to cop a feel!"

"He's a consultant!"

"Well, he wanted to CONSULT your ass!"

"Would you QUIT screaming!?" Blair whispered, pushing around her to slam her office door closed. "This is an office! I work here!"

Jo tossed a disbelieving snort. "It's Saturday! We're the only two people in here!"

Blair's eyes only narrowed. That bit of information was apparently not appreciated. "Yes, it's Saturday. It was bad enough I had to work today, but the one moment I stepped out to breathe, to have a decent lunch with a valued co-worker, my best friend comes in to ruin it all by accusing the man of a... a dine and dash!"

"He was gonna stiff you with the bill!"

"I OFFERED TO PAY!" Blair screeched, apparently forgetting her own concern about noise level around her work place.

Disgusted, Jo nearly spit. Her hand settled on the butt of her standard issue revolver, and then, considering she was hot and angry and annoyed as all hell, thought better of it.

Too much temptation.

"Jo, I am tired of this."

She glanced up, eyes on her friend as Blair leaned over her desk, reaching for a tissue, face blotchy with anger. Jo's eyes narrowed as she took in the slim cut skirt, the ass displayed prominently to her. When Blair straightened up, she glanced down at the cleavage, tantalizingly and cleverly revealed because there wasn't a button where there should have been.

"JO!"

She jerked up, feeling suddenly like she had been caught stealing a cookie. "What?!"

Blair snapped her fingers in front of her, face tight with frustration. "My eyes are up here," she enunciated, pointing to her face.

"I know where the hell your face is, Blair. But you wouldn't notice it what with the girls on parade, there."

Blair glanced down at her bosom. "This is the fashion."

"For the oldest profession, I'm sure."

"God-dammit, Jo!" Blair snapped, and pivoted on her heel, flopping in her chair, pressing her palms to her face. "You're driving me crazy!"

"Likewise!"

"Listen to me!" Blair snapped, but she crossed her legs then, and Blair really did have awesome legs. Jo was seeing everything that Jimbo was seeing, and who the hell was Blair kidding, anyway? This was OFFICE ATTIRE? "Being a police officer does NOT entitle you to act like some sort of jealous-JO LOOK AT MY FACE!"

Her eyes snapped up, and she felt the slightest bit ashamed. "What? I'm not doing anything."

"This is what I'm talking about!" Blair wheezed. "I can't have you ... doing this! We are NOT dating! We are friends. You have absolutely no claim over me."

Her face suddenly flaming, Jo stepped back, feeling idiotically hurt. "I know that."

"If I want to have lunch with a nice young man-"

"Jimbo is not a nice-"

"His name is JAMES, and he IS a nice young man. And if I want to have lunch with him - A BUSINESS lunch, or any kind of lunch, I would like to think I can do that without my rookie cop best friend threatening to arrest him."

"I had grounds!"

"You had nothing!" Blair snapped.

Wasn't that the truth.

Jo took in a deep breath, felt her cheeks burning with miserable embarrassment, and dragged her eyes away from Blair's angry face.

Blair was right. She had been right for a frickin' year. Jo was just a friend. An increasingly jealous best friend with no grounds for anything because Blair had never said anything to the contrary.

But there were looks. Long smoldering looks and shivers and eye contact, and Blair turning into a snotty bitch every time Jo even looked at another girl and that all had to mean something, right?

She shuddered, her heart throbbed, and too afraid to carry on the conversation, Jo preferred to stay angry.

"Fine! I have nothing. You know what? Good riddance, Blair. Date Jimbo!"

"JAMES!"

"Who cares!" Jo snarled. "You're tired of this? Me too. You're free. You got your best friend jealousy free!"

"Oh, we'll see how long THAT lasts," Blair snipped, brown eyes cold and dark.

"Long enough to get myself down to that club tonight and find that girl that's been hounding me."

Blair knew exactly which one, and Jo felt a thrill of validation at the flash she saw briefly spark in Blair's expression.

"Well, then I hope you don't contract something."

"I won't."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Turning on her squeaky shoes, Jo strode to the door, head held high.

The feeling of angry resolution dissolved exactly five steps from Blair's door, before Jo's heart tumbled down into her stomach, and her furious emotion faded in the favor of lovesick resignation.

"God-DAMMIT," she breathed to herself in the empty hallway, and swiveled, peeling off her cap once again to head back, ready to grovel. "Listen, Blair-"

Hard wood nearly exploded before her, and Jo barely had a second to blink before she registered Blair standing in the doorway, caught in the midst of running after her.

Brown eyes bore into hers, and then suddenly Blair lunged forward, mouth pressing against hers.

A different kind of heat flushed through her, and starved for this, the shock faded fast. Palms slid around Blair possessively, and she wasted no time in plunging her tongue deeply into Blair's mouth, tasting her intimately.

Blair didn't care to be delicate. She moaned loudly in her mouth and then Jo felt long fingers scratching at her collar, her arms, doing everything she could to pull her back into her office.

Kissing her wetly, sloppily, Jo followed immediately, arms wrapping around Blair's waist, supporting her friend when she slipped on her heels, adjusting for the drop in height when Blair kicked them off awkwardly.

"I don't want James," Blair breathed against her mouth, chest heaving against hers, fingers tangling in the loose bun at Jo's nape.

"I know," Jo answered, and stole another kiss, smoothing palms against Blair's back, curving over Blair's ass, skin tight against that fucking skirt.

"I want you," Blair groaned, the last word muffled by Jo's tongue in her mouth.

"I know."

They stumbled into a chair. Jo kicked it away.

Blair's lips tore from hers, and arms wrapped tightly around her, hips pushing against hers as Blair's mouth latched onto her lobe.

"I like it when you look at me."

Oh, God.

"Shut up, Blair," she ordered, and kissed her again, fingers sliding under the skirt, smoothing up Blair's thighs. Arms already around her shoulders, Blair didn't need the encouragement. Her thighs slid up, wrapping around Jo's waist as Jo carried her, running into the desk.

A stapler and an inbox crashed to the floor, and then hands began to scramble, fumbling with buttons.

Jo was overtaken. When Blair whimpered in her ear, she spread palms over thighs and buried her mouth into Blair's, pulling Blair further into her.

She had fantasized about her first time with Blair. It was always ridiculously sentimental, candles and soft sheets, and some sort of cheesy music playing. She pictured awkward fumbling and delicate words and a lot of reassurances and 'it's okays', because they were both virgins and it was special. She thought it would take all night.

Passion and an explosion of lust gave them a different reality. They had an abandoned office and a desk and Blair's legs wrapped around her waist. They had Blair fighting with her Kevlar and then giving up when Jo much more easily hooked fingers into underwear, and slid effortlessly into moist heat. Blair's arms flailed and then landed around her shoulders once again. Long fingernails scratched down the sides of Jo's neck and Blair moved against her, begging Jo for more.

She had wanted to be gentle.

She wasn't. She was a slave to Blair's will, and Blair wanted more and she wanted it harder, faster.

Blair bit her, on the side of her neck, and it made her wince, but only tightened her grip. Held Blair as close as she could with her free hand, frozen suddenly when Blair began to shudder, mouth latched to the skin just underneath her ear.

In the moments that followed, Jo began to notice things. The feel of her fingers, slick and wet and tightly encircled with Blair. The sting of the welts of the scratches on her neck. The hot pants of Blair, moist breath puffing against a saliva soaked spot on her neck. The way her heart seemed to bang against her ribs. The way Blair clutched onto her, as if they had just been through a fire and only managed to come out alive.

Slowly, slowly, Blair leaned back, and met her eyes with wide-eyed, frightened wonder.

Raspily, she began, "Did we just…" Blair, still recovering, offered only the slightest hint of a nod. "On your desk?"

"In my office," Blair managed, but didn't stop stroking back the bangs that fell into Jo's face, a fall out from her destroyed bun.

"But I've never-"

"Me too." 

Obviously.

She was still inside Blair. It had really…

Heart pounding, she shifted her fingers, and felt her friend spasm as a result, crumpling against her as she groaned.

"Jo," Blair gasp, reaching between them to stop her. "I'm still…"

"I'm sorry."

Blair's head jerked up. "What?"

Suddenly, she was upset, ready to cry. "I wanted it to be different. I wanted … I wanted to woo you."

"Woo me?" Blair repeated.

"With candles and chocolates… I wanted to take you to dinner and… I wanted…" Blair's fingers pressed against her cheek. Jo's moistened eyes searched hers beseechingly. "I wanted it to be nice."

The words broke her, but Blair gently took hold of her fingers and eased them out of her. Without hesitation, fingers slipped over her shoulders, reeled her in. With a duck of her head, Blair's lips landed on hers.

The kiss had lost some of the initial passion, but it was sweeter, more loving, more sure than any kiss she had ever received from Blair.

"We can have nice," Blair began gently, as their heads drifted apart. "And we can have this too."

"I don't want you to have to regret this."

The words came from fear, because more than anything, that was what Jo was afraid of. Blair giving in, and then forgetting, regretting, taking it all away from her.

A sharp burst of static coming from her hip cut into any response Blair might have made. "Polniaczek, where the hell are you?"

Her partner.

"Shit." With an apologetic glance to Blair, she looked down at her hands, and twisted so that she could grab the radio with her clean hand. "Yeah, I'm here."

"GET THE HELL DOWN HERE, ROOKIE. Argue with the girlfriend another time. We got a call."

A faint blush tinged Blair's cheeks, but her friend stayed oddly silent.

"Hold your horses, will ya? I'm on my way." She put down the radio, and stared regretfully into a beautiful, insecure expression. "I gotta go." She ached with apology. "I don't want to-"

"Miss Warner!" The door flew open, and Blair's fingers flexed instinctively against her sleeves when Felipe stepped in. "I got your message and…"

Words died in his throat as he surveyed the scene, and realized exactly what he had walked into. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I'll just- at my desk-" Fumbling, he backpedaled fast, nearly tripping over his feet.

The door closed to horrified silence.

"POLNIACZEK!" Jo turned the knob of the radio, lowering the booming to an irritating moan.

"You need to go," Blair said quietly, and pushed her gently away, scooting off the desk and smoothing down her skirt.

Jo watched her actions with an odd lump in her throat. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Felipe is discreet. For obvious reasons." Leaning forward, Blair carefully wiped at Jo's cheek. "You should stop by the bathroom before you go. You look ravished."

"Maybe because I was."

"I feel like it was the other way around."

Jo's fingers fisted together, and she felt the stickiness of Blair.

She didn't want to leave it. Not like this. "Blair."

"Come by to my apartment tonight," Blair suggested, buttoning Jo's shirt back up, smoothing the collar, like a housewife. "And we'll work on 'nice'."

After all this time, it seemed too simple. "No regrets?" Jo asked, just to be sure.

An exasperated eyeroll was her response. "All the time. Every day, with you."

She knew Blair, and she knew what Blair meant, with that half-hearted insult.

Her heart suddenly threatened to explode, right through her bulletproof vest, and suddenly giddy, she lunged forward, hauled her best friend up against her, and pressed a hard kiss against Blair's mouth. Releasing her just as quickly, she straightened her cuffs and moved toward the door, ready to face Felipe with a stern warning and an idle threat. "Fix your shirt. I think I snapped a button."

\--

She wanted nice.

What she got that night wasn't nice. It was more like what happened at the office, except this time it was against a wall next to the cabinet with Blair and Jo's pictures in it. This time, Blair finally got through the Kevlar, and didn't care that she had to break a nail to do it.

This time, Blair told her she loved her.

It was a far cry from a picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog.

There was a helluva lot of uncertainty and conflicting careers, and parents and bigots to worry about.

Nothing about the way she took Blair that night, with Blair's teeth sinking into her shoulder, and naked bodies slipping and sliding against each other, causing heated friction that burned through them both, could be categorized as 'nice'.

Jo didn't mind.

Nice didn't seem to really compare anymore.

Rick was nice. Her marriage was nice.

THIS?

This was so much more. 

**\-- FIN**


End file.
